


Fereldan Locks

by IncreasingLight



Series: In Their Blood [9]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: And were the daughter and granddaughter of a pirate raised in a castle?, Bad Puns, F/M, Inappropriate Zevran, Leliana POV, Love Story, Protective Wynne, Starts in Lothering, Stupid practical jokes, Unrequited Love, Warden who likes her freedom, Wardens being goofballs, What would you be like if there was a ballad written about your parents first meeting?, Woo-less Alistair
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-02
Updated: 2016-12-02
Packaged: 2018-08-12 15:21:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 37,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7939549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IncreasingLight/pseuds/IncreasingLight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This fic accidentally happened while I was writing a bit of background to sink into my Warden and Alistair's characters a bit better, to try to find more depth.  The next thing you know, I had 40,000 words already, and realized I had a completely different story on my hands, all from Leliana's POV.</p><p>So I'm writing it.  Updating will be sporadic, I'm afraid, because I have so many other projects and something that resembles a personal life.</p><p>I only go over in game events when absolutely necessary to plot or characterization, so don't expect an entire retelling of the first game.  I do borrow some in game dialogue, but that belongs to Bioware, not me, as do the characters.  Just playing, rather enthusiastically.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Vision

**Author's Note:**

  * For [iduna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/iduna/gifts).



> Gifted to iduna, who said she needed it. Hopefully it's as lighthearted as I intend it to be!

Many of the best tales start with ‘Once Upon a Time’ or ‘In an Age Long, Long, Ago’ or ‘Long Ago and Far Away.’

I always liked to start with ‘Do you want to hear a secret?’ It draws you in closer, creates intimacy between you, the listener, and me, the storyteller.  For a time it makes us lovers, with just the story between us like silken sheets.

This story is different, my friends. This story is neither Long Ago nor Far Away.  It happened almost yesterday, in the grand scheme of things, and right here, in Ferelden.  Hardly the best time, or the best setting for such a tale.  The best bards would overlook it as unsuitable.

We were surrounded by secrets. Wardens keep their secrets closer than anyone, far away in the Anderfels, in the gilded fortress known as Weisshaupt.  But those secrets are another tale entirely – one that is still being written.

These secrets are, perhaps, more mundane, but no less sweet in the common nature of them. What is a secret, after all, but a treasure, held close to prevent theft?  Even now, with as many secrets as my friends unraveled, I truly believe most of the secrets remain secreted away in a chest with a Ferelden lock, probably behind a door in the Royal vault.

I’ve always wondered what secrets the dog lords hide, that they feel the need for such secure locks. And there is a pull towards wondering who holds the keys for all the doors – and do they ever enter themselves, to see the treasures they’ve stored within?  Perhaps those secrets are valued only by the dead – perhaps no one will ever learn them at all.

But perhaps, this particular story could be told in no other way, in no other place, at no other time. All of us were there, after all, as we were neither before nor after.

Any decent storyteller would tell you the most important part of any tale is the characters that people it.

So gather around, my audience, because I am going to tell you a secret. A story of the Fifth Blight, and the heroes I knew – indeed some still claim that I was one of them.  Those claims are exaggerations, certainly.  Before they were heroes, we were strangers.  Before they were heroes, they became my friends.

But before I was their friend, I was myself. And so the story must start, not with them, and their tragic pre-histories, troubled and bitter with the salt of many tears, but with me.

And a dream I had, longer ago than it seems, in a tiny town called Lothering, long since gone.

 

_I stood on a cliff, and looked out over all of Thedas. A rising tide of darkness swelled, and swallowed an entire continent.  The swiftness of it all horrified me – so quickly for an entire continent to be subsumed.  A light broke from the heavens, and shone down, and I realized what I needed to do._

_I had to jump._

I woke before my body impacted, my pulse racing in my throat, and my body already upright. I covered my breast with one hand, willing my heart to slow, and having little success.

I pulled myself out of my bed and made my way out into the garden of the Chantry. The dew was still on the grass, and the bench was wet as I collapsed onto it, seeking peace where I had found it so often before.  I appreciated the altar and shrines to Andraste indoors – but it was often crowded, especially in the days before the Blight reached us.  More refugees arrived every day, and we were already beyond capacity.  People were sleeping in the pews, and there were more camping outside the town.

Those with more gold were lucky enough to score a bench at the inn, for an exorbitant price.

My breathing slowed, and the gloom settled, much like the darkness of the dream. It was a desperate time.  The Chantry couldn’t provide for everyone that needed help, and the Arl had long since fled, taking his knights and leaving his people defenseless but for the handful of Templars attached to the Chantry.

I had long since abandoned my bed to a pregnant mother close to her date of confinement. I slept on the floor now in a lonely blanket, with a sack of buckwheat as a pillow.

I had come a long way from my days of comfort and ease in Orlais.

Most days, I knew it was better to have the Chantry’s peace instead of luxuries. Most days, I recognized that the calculating mind of a trained bard with an eye to my chances and how much trouble I could make for my target was not something I wanted to cultivate in exchange for my soul.  But today… today my heart was troubled, as turbulent as the roiling nightmare of my dream, and my mind just as dark.

My eyes wandered while my thoughts dwelled on the scenes from my - I hesitated to call it a vision, exactly, but it had been so real, and so obviously representative of the Blight - and then I saw it.

The rose standing out on a bare branch, its white color as loud a declaration as any horn in an army, its silken petals still holding beads of water this early in the morning. It was the sort of beauty that I couldn’t take for granted, pure and lovely and fragrant on a thorny, dead, and withered branch that we all knew to be long since dead.

The flower was as pure as my dream had been dark.

There was still hope.

I knew, then, that I had to leap. Fall into the darkness, and let my light try to scatter the shadows.  The idea scared me like none before.  I risked finding everything I had fought to leave behind, my wild youth, my bardic past, to lock myself behind the security of Chantry doors.

Some things are better forgotten. I knew that, even then.

In order to save the world, I would have to destroy myself. Everything I had found, everything I had discovered since I left Marjolaine at the Storm Coast, dripping wet, but still alive.

I was furious, my friends.

How could the Maker ask this of me? To take this step, on the basis of a dream and a single bloom?  To lose, once again, a home, and works worth doing?

But I would give anything, if that’s what it took. There were rumors of Wardens in town – the only ones who had even a small chance of stopping the Blight before it took everything.  I would take my leave of my sisters and Revered Mother and wait at Dane’s Refuge.  Everyone came to the tavern, for news, and food, or for hopes of a bed, or something to drown their sorrows.  I would find a way to introduce myself, and I would beg, if necessary, to join them.

***

I remain unsure to this day whether my Revered Mother was more relieved to have another blanket free, or troubled at having less help to deflect the desperate people that clamored for her attention. Still, a mere few hours later I stood against a wall in the tavern, trying to be unobtrusive.  Waiting for these Wardens rushing around (and distributing medicines and helping little boys find their lost mothers and negotiating with extortionists and setting traps) to discover they were hungry.

Long ago, I would have been the center of attention in a small tavern such as this. Tonight, I was all but invisible, other than the unusual sight of a Sister in her robes lingering in a tavern like a common wench.  There were soldiers in the tavern.  I watched them warily from my place by the wall.  Teryn Loghain’s men, from their shields.  I had heard the rumors, seen the posters.  We all had.  The Wardens were supposed to be traitors to the King.

Whether the rumors were true or not, the Wardens were the only path to ending the Blight. If the soldiers attacked them, I would come to their defense.

I wasn’t expecting their leader to be a woman. Average height, dark hair the color of walnut shells to just past her shoulders.  Eyes the color of rain by the sea, fringed with lashes as thick as a paintbrush, shadowed by recent pain – her own or other people’s, I didn’t know.  Perhaps both.  Not pretty, precisely – her nose was too thin and not straight, and her eyes too small, with worried wrinkles already forming at the corners.

There were laugh lines around her mouth as well, though I would wager a guess that they had seen less exercise in recent days.

Her companions were bickering – if I were being less charitable I would say they were arguing – about their recent good deeds. “All I am saying is that I refuse to fetch any kittens down from trees,” the hardly dressed one insisted bitterly.  She wore what little she had very well, a black leather skirt more fringe than fabric, a necklace larger than her cowled blouse, revealing the straps of her breastband.  Nothing more revealing than I had seen on occasion in a certain section of Val Royeaux, perhaps, but here in Ferelden?  She was either Chasind or shocking – there was no room for debate.  And the Chasind in town wore far more clothing.  “Running here and there, ‘Oh, please, Elder Miriam, let me give you all my medicines!  No, I can make poisons!  Just let me kill five gigantic spiders and I’ll be right on that!  The secret is in their venom, you know.”  The woman concluded her tirade and glared around her, unimpressed.  “Truly, I can’t imagine what Dane ever saw in this place, to take ‘Refuge’ here.  Better to let the Blight have it.”

The woman sighed, obviously filtering out the other woman’s constant complaining. “You could wait outside, Morrigan.”

“And be taken up by the Templars haunting every inch of this backwater?! Hardly,” the woman sneered beautifully and I found myself impressed by her natural talent.  I had never seen better, even at the Empress’ court.

“If you don’t want to be taken by Templars you could _quit talking about it_ ,” the young man, broad in shoulder, with a smile that suggested a lack of confidence, and armored within an inch of his life, pointed out, quite logically.  “The best way to hide magic, I assume, would be to deny ever having it.”

“And how would you know, almost-a-Templar?” the woman replied haughtily. “What you know about magic and the arcane wouldn’t fill a teaspoon.”

I braced myself for an opening, but missed my chance. The soldiers I had noticed earlier had made their move, and despite the other woman’s deprecating tone, they attacked.  I threw myself into the fight with my daggers and bow – now, besides my Chantry robes, my only possessions worth mentioning.  She stopped us before they were all dead, and gave their Commander a message for Loghain.

“Tell him we know what he did, and that we’re coming for him,” she bit off. Her voice was warm, commanding, and as sweet as the chocolate that was en vogue in Val Royeaux, despite the words that came from them.

The man disappeared, and she turned to me, arms folded defensively and her eyebrow raised.

I bought her a drink since the ‘Refuge’ had wine, though it was thin tasting, horrible stuff, but she didn’t make a face at the taste, just leaned back and closed her eyes, as if she had never tasted anything so delectable. She thanked me for both the assistance and the drink - apparently their coin was rather limited at the moment – and we settled down to talk.  She narrowed her eyes at my accent, but said nothing.  She was from the North, from somewhere not Denerim, and noble, based on her modulated tones.

I wondered if she could sing, with a voice like that. Even Andraste herself could not have had a prettier voice.

She laughed bitterly when I told her I intended to join them. “A Chantry Sister?”  She squinted slightly, pursing her lips, “Where did a Chantry sister learn to fight with daggers?”

“A lay sister only,” I corrected gently. “Many of us had… secular lives before we came to serve the Maker and his Bride.”

“Secular lives,” Morrigan huffed. “Indeed.”  She knew what I had been.  I was unsure how, precisely she knew, given her evident origins, but she knew all the same.

“I was not always a sister,” I confessed further. “I… I was once a bard in the Orlesian court.  A singer, an entertainer…”

My former occupation didn’t make Elissa blink twice, and I relaxed slightly. Either she was unfamiliar with the Orlesian Game, or she didn’t care or… I would never be able to beat her at Diamondback.  To find a gently bred, if raised to war, young noblewoman in Ferelden not aware of the Game was… unusual, but not beyond possibility.  Especially if she had been raised away from Maric’s court.

But she huffed irritably. “I don’t think we need nightly entertainment for the darkspawn, Sister…”

“Leliana,” I supplied, heart beating too fast. She couldn’t say no.  Thedas needed me, I knew it… “And I can fight.  You see the evidence before you!”

In fact, the innkeeper’s assistant was grumpily cleaning up the pooled blood with a very filthy cloth and mop, with dire glances cast in our direction. None of us should linger.

“True…” the woman glanced at the taller man next to her. “Alistair, you’re the senior Warden here.  What should we do?”

The man scooted his chair back abruptly. “Me?  Lead?!  No, no, no, no.  When I lead we end up without pants and lost in the Korcari Wilds.  Don’t you remember what happened with Daveth and Jory?  We can’t risk that happening again!”

The woman rolled her eyes back to me. “For the record, it was a joke.  I told the two idiots that if they bathed in the Witch of the Wild’s swamp they’d be able to keep it up for a night and a day.  That she had all her husbands do it.  It wasn’t Alistair’s fault they believed me and ended up covered in leeches while Morrigan looked on, giggling.”  She leaned in, “You would not believe how white Jory’s ass was.  I’ve never seen anyone so pale, and where I grew up it rains nine months out of the year.  Transparent, really.”  She pouted a bit, “Actually, he did say he had spent time in Highever.  That might explain it.”

“I was not giggling,” Morrigan huffed, a smile twitching around the corner of her mouth. “But ‘twas a good jest.  Shame that Alistair did not fall for it.  Perhaps he can be taught.  If your companions had lived, at least you wouldn’t be the ‘foolish’ one in the group any longer.”

“Quiet you… sneaky… witch… thief,” Alistair’s comebacks could use some work, I decided, eying the woman’s staff. He was flushed – was it at the talk about this Jory’s ass?  “Elissa, perhaps… perhaps we could move on?”  He focused on the ceiling with a hopeless look on his face.

Surely no one was that innocent? At his age?  He was older than the woman, certainly.  I would bet my last copper that she was barely out of the schoolroom.

Morrigan was eying him with calculation. “By the old gods, you did it later, didn’t you?  While your companion was healing from her injuries!”

“That is none of your concern!”

“Did you remember to bring salt for the leeches? Or did you figure that it was feeding them that did the trick?”

I shrugged off the exchange with a small smile. “So may I join you?”

“Why would you want to?” Elissa was cackling like the witch she wasn’t now, almost snorting in her amusement at her fellow Warden’s embarrassment. He buried his face in his mug of watered ale.  “This is us on our best behavior, Sister.  I don’t think you know what you’re getting into.”

Sweet Maker, the man’s flush had reached his forehead and the tips of his ever slightly pointed ears. I averted my eyes politely in order to focus on her, my own laughter barely held back.  “My Lady Warden, if for no other reason than I can witness more of your diabolical sense of humor, I want to do precisely that.”

“Maker preserve me,” muttered Alistair desperately. “Not another one.  Isn’t there a _man_ we could recruit?  Someone stoic and solid and… manly?”

I weighed him carefully, “Actually,” I drawled out the word deliberately. “I might be able to help you with that.”

Four minutes later we stood outside – much to the innkeeper’s relief – before a locked cage, with a giant of a man inside. “He’s of the Qun, that’s all I know,” I confessed.  “That and the Revered Mother holds the key.”

Elissa frowned, but after a few short questions, marched back inside the town, to fetch the key.

That night, we all were camped just outside Lothering, with tents, and food, and one very large, very taciturn Sten. Stoic, solid, manly.  Just what the almost-Templar had ordered.  That he was also a confessed murderer, and imprisoned at his own request was just icing on the tiny cake.  Alistair couldn’t decide whether to stay up all night to protect us or give up and go to bed.

Eventually he opted for a bedroll by the fire, an obvious compromise.

Elissa patted my back in approval as she retired. “Well done, Leliana.  We’ll talk more tomorrow.  Welcome to the Blight, for what its worth.”

I looked around myself - a scarce handful of tents, two dwarves with a wagon of largely unnecessary supplies, a Mabari, and a small grouping of companions all with their own bizarre quirks and personalities...

What had I gotten myself into?


	2. The Dragon and the Cheese

I soon realized that we would be spending more time traveling and doing small errands for just enough coin to keep us fed and in arrows than we would be fighting darkspawn. Alistair’s argument about appealing to Arl Eamon to counter Loghain’s treachery was a good one – whatever Morrigan said, the young man had a head on his shoulders to match his muscles.  His tendency to deflect his innate diplomatic nature by claiming ignorance and acting foolish deceived no one but himself.

“I’m not sure about this, Alistair,” Elissa worried, looking down at the village from the cliff far above. “Redcliffe doesn’t look precisely welcoming.  What are they barricading against?  Don’t they realize that the darkspawn literally spring out of the earth?”

“I think I might agree with you,” the man was rather pale. “Look, I think… I think there’s something you might need to know.”

In the young man’s tone was an unspoken plea to let him speak to his fellow Warden alone. I exchanged a look with Morrigan, and tilted my head away, in an attempt to give them some privacy.  Morrigan’s scowl did not change, and she sat down on a rock, deliberately refusing to go away.  I didn't even bother to look at Sten.

I supposed there was no point. I’d likely overhear anything Alistair said, after all.  Bardic training to hear whispers in a crowded ballroom was effective everywhere.

“It’s… it’s just… I told you that Arl Eamon raised me…” he seemed to be hesitating. “Well, the truth is… I’m a bastard.”  He frowned, “And don’t start with the jokes.  I’ve heard them all.”

“Arl Eamon’s…” Elissa prodded far more gently than I had ever heard her before.

“Of course not! ” Alistair cleared his throat and shut his eyes to steel himself. “That rumor went around, actually.  But no.  Not Arl Eamon.  My father is – was,“ he corrected swiftly, “King Maric.”  He cringed as the last word passed his lips.

My own mouth dropped open, my Game face completely lost with the combination of those two words. Morrigan sighed, as if she was bored.

“It’s King Maric,” Alistair continued even faster. “Yes.  So Cailan is – was – my half brother.  So yeah, I’m not just a bastard, but a royal bastard.”  He flicked his eyes back open.  “Ha ha ha, surprise?”  His face searched hers urgently.  “For the love of the Maker’s Balls, say something?”

Elissa made her way over to the rail of the bridge over the river, and leaned against it, backwards. “What should I say, my prince?”

“No!” Alistair protested, “I’m not. Not really.  I’m nobody.  My mother was a serving girl – dead now, having me.  It’s been made very clear that I’m no one… that I can expect nothing of anyone.”

Elissa’s nostrils flared with distaste. “Whoever told you that?  Did Maric have so many sons that he couldn’t provide for a bastard?  He was widowed for years – did people expect him to be celibate?  Things happen, even when people are careful.  Given Cailan’s childless marriage, I’d say you were now the heir to the throne.”  Her eyes narrowed, "And what's more, I bet Cailan knew that when he sent us to the Tower at Ostagar.  He was protecting you."  She looked grudgingly impressed, lip outthrust and eyes thoughtful.

“NO!” Alistair protested even more. “No!  That can’t be right.  Eamon!  Eamon would be the heir.  He’s not in the royal family, but he’s… he’s Cailan’s uncle!  He’d be far more… suitable.”  Elissa caught my eye and coughed, knowing I was familiar with royal courts.

I flushed slightly. I wasn’t used to being able to be read so easily.  “Actually, you’d be next in line,” I offered.  “But the Landsmeet – wouldn’t they make the final decision?”  They seemed to function somewhat like the Council of Heralds in Orlais – if far less formally, and with a great deal more fur and dogs involved, I was sure.

“Right,” Alistair grasped at straws, “The banns will never accept a bastard.  And no one even knows about me. So… let’s drop it, shall we?”

“Since we’re being honest,” Elissa took a deep breath, and I noticed her equal pallor with concern, “You should know, perhaps. I’m probably the last surviving child of the Teryn of Highever, Bryce Cousland and his wife Eleanor.”

“The Soldier and the Seawolf,” I breathed despite myself. Elissa blushed and clenched her jaw.  “There are songs about your parents, milady.”

“Yes, well, those days were long behind them by the time I came along,” she muttered. “Until the night she died, I hadn’t seen my mother lift any weapon larger than sewing scissors.  I always figured the stories were exaggerated.  Mother never took me so much as sailing in a dinghy.”  She squinted in sudden pain.  “I never met my grandfather, Storm Giant or no.  Life might have been easier if I had.  Shouldn’t we move on?”

Alistair’s color had come back into his face, his eyes wide with surprise and respect, and my storyteller’s mind was churning. It was too perfect, almost.  The lady knight, last of her line; The bastard prince, scorned by his family, now the only one remaining.

Forget the Blight. This was the story of the Dragon Age.  It was a Romance.  My mind furled the word out in every direction, curled the edges of the letters, and scented it with rose petals, as it deserved.

Alistair swallowed, “My Lady Cousland.” He sounded far too deferential.  Who had been in charge of his education?  Even a bastard Theirin was still a Theirin, and either superior or equal to the Couslands, Teryns as they were.  An Arl, perhaps could afford that level of deference, but not a prince, bastard or no.

And then I remembered. He was raised in the Chantry.  And before that, he was a part of Arl Eamon’s household staff.  My stomach sank.

I never said I agreed with everything the Chantry stood for. Too many horrible things had been done in the name of the Maker and his Bride.

“I’m no lady. I’m a Grey Warden like you.  A soldier, like my father.  And if my mother was the Seawolf, a sea monster feared by raiders and the Orlesian navy, then I’m…” she breathed sharply through her nose.  “I’m…” she swallowed and then continued, “I’m a dragon.  I’m the stuff of nightmares.  The archdemon should fear me.”  She puffed herself up, chin in the air, as if she was proud that she could no longer claim a title.  “And if you’re nobody, I’m nobody right along with you.  Howe saw to that.”  She coughed to hide her pain at the name.  “I don’t need a knight, Alistair.  I have my own sword,” she squinted at him, as if she expected him to argue.  No doubt she had argued that exact point many times to other men, “Or in my case, two,” she corrected feebly.  “Or one and a half, if a dagger is all that can be found.”

Alistair chuckled despite himself. “In that case, _milady_ , I must apologize…”

“Please don’t,” she pinched her nose, “I wanted to forget…” she sighed, “Alistair, why didn’t you tell me?”

I could have asked the same of her. Since the first day, she had been welcoming and friendly.  Her initial worries about my past had been brought up privately and dismissed immediately upon my assurance that those days were behind me.   I had a good idea of whom, exactly, this woman was, I had thought.  But I had not pegged her for the daughter of one of the highest ranking people in the land.  She was far too gauche.

Idly, I wondered what she would look like in a dress. Something in red, perhaps?  Or silvery grey, like her eyes…

“You didn’t ask?” Alistair laughed weakly, breaking into my thoughts.

The dear boy had a point. I hadn’t either.  I hadn’t realized it mattered.

She smiled at him. “Maker’s Balls, you’re cheesy.”  She swept her hair - still tied back safely into her braid, up off her neck, as if she was sweating.  Was she just as nervous about her own history as Alistair?

“That’s me,” Alistair bounced back. He deflated just as quickly.  “Elissa… I just… I wanted you to like me for me.  Not for my father.”  I knew better than to try to lift my eyebrows at Morrigan or Sten.  Neither one had a romantic bone in their body.  I don’t believe the Qun even has a word for heart.

I asked him later, and received a brief lesson in Qun anatomy. It was underwhelming and the opposite of romantic.  I expected no less.

She looked at him, brow creased, all nonchalance shoved aside. “No more secrets?”

“Aside from an unnatural love of cheese and near obsession with my hair?” Alistair aimed for wit, and as usual, fell far short.  He was an endearing boy.  “No.”

“Then we’re good, Cheesy,” she smiled at him. “Or should I call you ‘my prince’?”

“Anything is better than that,” Alistair slumped with relief. “My lady Cousland.”

“Elissa.”

“My lady Warden.”

His annoying persistence had paid off. She flashed him a look of irritation, and he slightly recoiled.  Who had taught him to retreat like that?  I could tell it bothered Elissa just as much as me.   “I’m nobody now.  My family is gone.  I should be telling you that I’m honored to serve beside you, swearing my allegiance and Highever to your service, and the like.  Neither of us is interested in that.  So stop, Alistair.  Please.  I’m just your friend.  Elissa.”

He swallowed nervously, “Elissa.” It was said in a whisper that suggested illicit meetings at midnight.

I’m fairly sure our so-called dragon shivered at the tone, gripping her sword to hide her reaction. Interesting.

It was Morrigan who had the last word, however, before we shuffled across the bridge to be waylaid by a resident. “Ugh, dragons are so common.  Anyone with a little talent can be a dragon.  My _mother_ can be a dragon.  You should have picked a griffon, instead.  Now, there’s a creature worth fearing.”

“They’re extinct, Morrigan. And my level of disappointment on the subject cannot be expressed.  I suggest you change the subject before I start crying and ruin my fearsome reputation.  One cannot be the Warden who intends to slay the Archdemon with a sniffly nose and reddened eyes.”  This entire speech was performed with our lady staring straight ahead, focused on the local man ready to beg for our assistance.

“As you wish,” as always the witch was dismissive. “It matters not to me.”

I knew one thing – this was going to be like no other story involving a prince and a dragon that anyone had ever heard.

I secretly smiled while Elissa made the necessary noises of concern at the village's plight.

I would get to tell it.


	3. Thoughtful Thievery

After preparing for the inevitable onslaught of undead that evening, I slipped into the local Chantry, looking to light a candle for us, for Redcliffe, and for Lothering. It was strange, to me, how people stayed put, even when they could run – both here, and in Lothering, there were those with no intent to leave until someone prodded them in the appropriate direction. I knelt before the shrine in silent contemplation, but my mind was not on Our Lady.

A strategic retreat in the face of superior forces is simple wisdom.

That was what Sten claimed. All I could see was that these people needed us.

Elissa bought off a greedy dwarf with the last of our funds, trying to assemble a hasty militia. I’m fairly certain that she would have made sure the mercenary was on the front lines, even if she had to sell her own body to guarantee it. Luckily it did not come to that.

Threats had sufficed for the mysterious elf in the tavern who turned out to be an agent of Loghain, proof positive that the man was behind whatever mess was going on at the Keep, and for the tavern owner himself.

I’m certain Elissa did not mean for Lloyd to survive. She had spoken to the barmaid for a bit too long, and while she couldn’t fund every single young lady’s trip to Denerim, she would do what she could for the ones she could. Perhaps she felt she could arrange Bella’s promotion by underhanded means.

A year prior I would have agreed – some people weren’t worth the breath they breathed or the space they took up. I would have classified Lloyd as one of them. Without him, Bella would do very well, right where she was. But it was very cold of her, and I wondered if I really knew anything of Elissa at all.

We watched the Redcliffe Knights roll barrels of oil from the general store up the hill to the first barricades. I picked so many locks in the abandoned houses of the more and less fortunate townspeople that my fingers bled – long out of practice at the delicate work. There isn’t much cause for picking locks in the Chantry.

That night we fought with the Knights, and then with the militia. Waves of undead washed over us all night until dawn finally broke along with the assault, and exhausted, our legs gave way and we sat, watching the remains of the fires burn.

I slept, slid sideways against Morrigan, who was too stiff to even lie down after a night of shapeshifting, but Alistair ended curled up in Elissa’s lap like a very large, very metallic puppy, with the real dog’s head propped on his arm, while she hunched over him halfway to hit Sten’s shoulder. It all made for a degree of familiarity that had been impossible before. But war bands you together, they say. It was hardly the last time we piled ourselves into a heap of exhaustion after a victory, and slept while we could.

It did not last for long. Our rest was disturbed by the Knights rousing us. We were needed at the Chantry for formal recognition by Bann Teagan. Elissa tried to deflect – the town itself had little left, there had been many lives lost, we didn’t expect thanks – but it didn’t matter. They were determined to celebrate us as heroes.

I suppose you could say that the dragon had saved the village instead of destroying it.

Elissa declared her intention to travel to the Keep, discussing it in a low voice with Bann Teagan afterward, and agreeing to meet him at the old windmill.

Morrigan groaned. She seemed to have an allergy to good works.

I was trying not to be troubled, even though our not-so-fearless leader’s intentions weren’t quite as pure as the rose in my dream. She was often short with people, and not afraid to threaten and cajole in turn. She spent much of those early days overwhelmed and afraid, if the number of times she would ask Alistair if he was sure there were no Wardens closer than Weisshaupt could be depended on to bear witness. If she struggled with her ideals, it was no more than the result of her inexperience, I argued with myself. Even ideals should be balanced with necessity, and morals must be practical to survive.

A young woman who has just reached the 18th anniversary of her nameday is rarely asked to bear such a burden. She had just won her first victory – perhaps not against darkspawn, but certainly against a formidable enemy - and yet she was stepping even further up, allowing the townspeople to expect her to beard the lion in its den, and seek out the troubling source of the undead.

No one expected it to be a child; the child of a woman that she had instantly disliked. These are the decisions that show a person’s true character.

Mind you, Isolde’s voice – that nasal accent the result of years of Orlesian occupation blending most disagreeably with the natural Fereldan tones – was as melodic as a cheese grater. “TEE-gun. Tee-gun… Are you going to let her speak to me that way, Tee-gun?”

She made my teeth ache. I hope Tee-gun was grateful that it was his brother married to the woman and not himself. He had a narrow escape from the voice, from my way of thinking.

Once we were in the castle and Elissa was confronted with the truth behind the horror of what was happening, I could see her shut down, fatigue, fear, bewilderment, and a certain amount of disgust at the nightmare around her reaching up and trying to pull her under the shadow from my dream.

She wanted the answer to be easy. She wanted something to be simple – sacrifice the willing mother, save the son – too little and too ignorant, despite his tutor, to be blamed for his sins. The Circle would educate him, no doubt, teach him restraint and control of his arcane gifts. If there had been a way to sacrifice Jowan, I have no doubt she would have done it, whether remorseful or not.

She feared magic. She feared what Connor was capable of. That she hadn’t already ordered the ritual was merely the results of years of Chantry indoctrination against blood magic, and her own questions about why it was her decision to make.

But Alistair asked her to spare Isolde. He didn’t believe it was necessary to make a sacrifice at all, pointing out the relative accessibility of lyrium and mages as if he hardly believed that she would listen - or perhaps doubting his own opinion. He had trained as a Templar, after all. Even Morrigan seemed to approve, ever so slightly, at his gentle suggestion, even as she protested the time it would take to accomplish such a task.

But then, she didn’t like Isolde either. Morrigan merely tolerated us, and Isolde crossed the line into active dislike on the mage‘s part. I’m certain the feeling was mutual.

When Alistair spoke, Elissa shuddered, and came back to herself, surfacing from under that darkness with great difficulty. I could sympathize – it seemed like every time I sank, I found it harder to find the sun. And her burden was so much greater than mine – I had only the mass of my own soul, not all of Thedas, to weigh me down.

“The Circle is a day away. Very well.” She lifted her chin, and I wondered if only I could see the load she carried, her eyes darkened with shadows no one else could see. “We’ll travel there, and ask for help. After that, we’ll go on your quest for these Sacred Ashes.” But her eyes grew calculating, and I wondered what she was up to. “Still - we have these treaties - they allow us to take things we need – and you have supplies that we likely need. Arrows, for example, food for Ser Wulfred, certainly. Alistair, would you be so kind as to take me on a tour of the castle you grew up next to, if not precisely in?”

Alistair hesitated, his desires shifting between Isolde’s indignant sputtering, and his longing to show off a better side of what he no doubt considered his childhood home, combined with a general reluctance to loot Eamon‘s residence. I‘m not sure if practicality or pride won, but he acquiesced, all the same. “With pleasure, Elissa. Right this way?” Her dog followed them, panting in eternal approval.

I trailed them, naturally, leaving Morrigan and Sten to keep an eye on the blood mage and the mother. No doubt it would be a very silent room, unless Jowan meant to try small talk with Bann Teagan.

Elissa took everything we could carry and then some, and never batted an eyelash. Alistair watched, misplaced guilt and concern warring with acknowledged need. She portioned the useful things out in camp that night, and sold the rest to the amiable dwarf and his son following us around the next day for a pittance, before we left for the Circle. Her last stop before leaving town was ordering her dog to wee on the tree by the windmill and another in the castle courtyard.

The why eludes me, but we went out of our way to do it, so it must have been important. I may have been born Fereldan, but I don’t profess to understand Mabari owners. My pet preferences incline to the decorative or useful, not the intimidating and fuzzy.

Ser Wulfred was the best of his breed, I admit. I amused myself often in those days, painting his portrait with words.

I saw her set aside an amulet when we stopped for luncheon, frowning at it as if she was unsure, but then wrapping it up carefully and stowing it away in her pack with the rest of her dragon hoard the next moment. But her eyes watched Alistair move around for a little while before she sighed, retrieved it, and went to find him.

I was always a curious child. No one who knew me then would be surprised to know that I followed her.

She held it in her hand, still wrapped in her handkerchief. “Alistair,” she started. “Here. This is for you.”

Alistair smiled in bewildered confusion, “Is that for me?! Wow!” and unwrapped the tiny bundle. “My mother’s amulet?” He blushed and chuckled, “There you go, listening to me again. I could get used to this, you know.”

_The amulet of his mother_ , I thought, with a mental gasp. Evidently there was additional backstory still to be revealed if his dead mother had owned such a trinket. It was no cheap metal that would stain his skin green if he wore it too long. And the stone… it looked like obsidian?

Elissa tried to blow it off, “Just an act of thoughtful thievery. I found it in Eamon’s study. But since it looks like Eamon kept it, I thought… well, maybe he cared more than you realized.” She was shoving one booted foot back and forth through the dust, looking down, refusing to meet the eyes of the man that were tearing up in front of her. “In any case, it’s yours, not his. Whatever he meant to do with it, you have it now. It looks like he fixed it, or that it wasn’t broken as badly as you thought?”

_Look up,_ I longed to shout. _Look at him. You can’t ignore someone who looks at you like that, my friend!_ I had felt that own look on my face more than once already. She had given me a flower – the same sort that my mother had always tucked amongst her clothes, a rare and beautiful thing. Marjolaine had never given me so meaningful a gift, however simple.

She would never see me the way I was beginning to look at her, but I had my suspicions about our young not-quite-prince. I hoped if they proved true, that I could be the better woman. She was a friend that I would hate to lose, even then.

Friends had been hard to find, as an Orlesian lay sister in a Fereldan Chantry.

“Perhaps,” Alistair’s voice broke, as if he was fifteen again, and just starting to shave, “Maybe.” He fiddled with the clasp, fumbling slightly with calloused fingers more used to swords and shields than the delicate nature of the chain.

He was going to wear it. My heart melted, even as I wondered if it was more in memory of the mother he had never known, a gesture of appreciation at Eamon’s thoughtfulness, or for the woman who had restored such a precious thing to him.

“Here,” her words were never so quiet. “Sit. You’re too tall for me to reach.” Alistair squatted in the dust, one foot extended, and the other curled underneath him, and she reached around and fastened it around his throat. “There,” she brushed her fingers lightly down the back of his neck, and I know I saw him shiver. He reached up and grabbed her hand, and held it for a long minute, looking at her earnestly.

I wondered if he had ever known that sort of affection. From what I knew of Arl Eamon, I found it unlikely. Even less so, from what I gathered about the Arlessa.

But she backed away, pulled free, blushing, and retreated to the other side of the camp to bury her face in her dog, her eyes confused over his short fur. Ser Wulfred, like a good puppy, basked in the attention.

I sighed, disappointed in her suddenly shy behavior, and came out of my hiding place to grab my studded leather helm, thinking Alistair too zoned out to notice, and knowing we needed to get ready to move on.

“Leliana,” Alistair stated, surprising me, and still staring at Elissa, who had recovered and was now repacking her things with single mindedness. “You’re a woman, right?”

_Oh no,_ I thought, more than a little desperately. _This conversation is not going to end well._

 


	4. Licking a Lamppost

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As requested, I am including the entire song 'Soldier and the Seawolf', or as much as Bioware has supplied us with. Because apparently there are ten verses, and we only have four. As always, it's Bioware's property.
> 
> 'The Soldier and the Seawolf'
> 
> 'The lion's ships were Denerim bound  
> Oh, drop him, Lady, drop him!  
> Let the true king's call for aid resound  
> Just drop him, Lady, drop him!  
> A solider lad from the army came  
> Oh, drop him, Lady, drop him!  
> Leading thirty souls in Maric's name.  
> Just drop him, Lady, drop him!
> 
> Turn him loose and let him go  
> Down to the rocks and waves below  
> The depths can have that scurvy knave  
> Just drop him, Lady, drop him!
> 
> When the soldier met the Mistral's crew  
> Not a word of their great deeds he knew  
> And the Seawolf he took for a servant lass  
> Great Andraste, what an ass!
> 
> 'Fore the Seawolf's ire, no man could stand  
> Soldier felt his death was close at hand  
> Two great steps back did he retreat  
> And the cliff side crumbled 'neath his feet.'
> 
> *As seen in World of Thedas, vol. 2
> 
> I suspect that the last two verses are sung more as a call and response, similar to the first verse, and the second stanza is the chorus that would be sung between the verses. But as Bioware hasn't said... I didn't want to alter the original text while quoting. I will be using the song in further chapters, however, and making use of these suspicions.

“Alistair, growing up in the Chantry like you did… have you ever… “ We talked about silly things while we traveled; ridiculous things that made Alistair blush, making up absurd euphemisms for things that sounded like sexual acts. For a gently raised noblewoman, she had quite the sense of humor.

Sometime I should tell you about the trick she pulled on Morrigan with the measuring stick, a ball of twine, and a green handkerchief. I’ve repeated it myself a few times, with less success. No one laughed harder than Elissa at Morrigan’s frustration. But we were all victims to her pranks at one time or another.

I’m still not certain if her asking Alistair if he was a virgin was flirting or not. Probably not, knowing her. She was probably just seeking information, or hoping to embarrass him. But it backfired, that is certain. Alistair barely blushed, throwing his own absurd euphemisms back at her (Had he eaten jellied ham? If that was supposed to be a reference to her lady bits… ew.), and then he mentioned licking a lamppost, and her face dissolved slowly into red, as she accused him of making fun of her.

As if she hadn’t been doing precisely that.

“Make fun of _you,_ dear lady? Perish the thought.” I watched him, trying to keep my hands busy brushing Wulfy so they wouldn’t suspect me of listening.

It was about time someone turned her own foolery back upon her. She had teased Alistair relentlessly, since long before I met them in Lothering. But as she admitted that she had never done anything of the sort (No surprises there, I never met a woman so green.), that in fact she had never even been kissed… I watched him start and stare.

“Oh, really? So you’re saying that I, in one thing at least, have more experience than you?” He tilted an eyebrow at her, and I could see his thoughts processing, and him dismissing them as inappropriate or ill-advised.  She didn't like the insinuation that he knew something she didn't, and she frowned in disapproval.  Evidently she had expected something quite different.

I knew Alistair was going slowly mad, watching her and wondering if she would ever return his regard. He was too honest and impatient a boy to wait and see what developed of her feelings. He would be the sort of man who leapt into love the way he charged on the battlefield - careless of traps and pitfalls, and more likely to get caught than not. The aborted conversation a day prior was just the beginning.

So I brought it up. Of course I did. Someone had to push the two together, and it was easier to do that than to pull her towards me. I wasn’t, as they say, her type, and I had no desire to compete where I was not wanted. So instead, half a day later, I gently inquired, as if I hadn’t overheard their conversation at all, “Elissa, have you ever had a suitor?”

“I suppose.”

“How do you not know?”

“It was a little hard to know what to call him. He despised me. It was my parents, mostly, and his parents, deciding to toss us together because they fought together in the War, and vaguely thought it might work out, as he wasn‘t too much older than I was. Then his father decided to murder my entire family, and lo and behold, he wasn’t my suitor any longer.” She laughed. Forgive me for the inadequate descriptor – for it wasn’t a laugh at all, but a shattered and sharp sound devoid of mirth. “At least something good came out of it. No more talk of Thomas Howe.”

Speaking of suitors was the wrong tack to take, I recognized at once. “Alliances are all well and good, but have you ever been in love?”

She laughed at me then. Truly laughed, a merry random cascade of sound that trilled into my ear. I could feel Alistair listening to us. “No. If I had dared, my parents would have thrown me at him. I can only pity the poor man! The songs don’t lie, Leliana. They married for love. My father was disgustingly romantic in the most foolish way – you’ve probably heard the story. Everyone has heard the fucking story. He tried to propose to my mother by singing all ten verses of ‘their song’. Horrid sea chantey drivel, with a chorus that recommends her to ‘drop him’ off a bloody cliff into the Waking Sea. If only. That would make for a better story, if a shorter one.”

“I’ve never heard the story,” Alistair protested. “Did she drop him off the cliff or not?”

“By all the old gods, don’t sing the song,” Morrigan begged me in a bored voice. “Surely, Alistair, even you can intuit that he was not, in fact, dropped, given the presence of a certain young woman?”

“She might have rescued him,” Alistair protested, “afterwards… or maybe he could swim?” The witch’s disgusted sound was a work of art. Morrigan wasted herself on the Korcari Wilds - her natural detachment was the sort that Orlesian nobles would work towards all their lives and never achieve.

All the same, I could hear the wistfulness behind Elissa’s bravado.

She wanted that. Not the singing, but the idea that someone wanted her enough to embarrass himself publicly. I had never been so confident in Alistair‘s eventual success. “So you’ve never been in love because you didn’t want to end up in a love match?”

“I didn’t - don’t,” she corrected swiftly, “want to get married. Married means you settle down, stop practicing warcraft, start caring for a home, and start having babies. I’ve never met anyone worth giving up everything I loved for. My mother was a fool. She had an entire fleet! And to give it up for my father…” she shrugged. “My father was a very nice man. I loved him dearly, but he hardly inspired that level of devotion.”

“You don’t think it’s possible that a person might love you for all the things you are, versus what you can give them?”

She sighed, “Leliana, I failed logic and rhetoric on purpose because I didn’t want to end up an ambassador to Val Royeaux. My tutor, Aldous, despaired of me and the hash I made of history. I made his life worse than the Void. But to answer your question: No, I don’t. My father claimed to love my mother’s independent ways, but instead of joining her at sea, he settled her down in Highever Keep as the wife to a Teryn! And for what? Because he was the only heir and someone had to do the job. Because of duty. All my life I have been confronted with various men that claim to discover a rare creature in the woman they love, and then domesticate her in the name of duty. I find it incredibly unlikely that there is a man out there who wants a wife who would rather study the best way to split a Hurlock into thirds than how to set an elegant table. Or if there is, he would think I seek only to gain his approval. Conceited arses, every one of them. I’m no simpering simpleton that fakes interest in tournaments to find a husband. I’d rather win the tournaments and press my opponents‘ faces into the dust until they admit I‘m the better fighter. I don’t need the ‘gentle arts’ my mother lauded to land a man, because I don’t need a man.”

“What thrills you then?” Alistair was practically breathing down our necks now, he was walking so closely. I carefully noted that she didn’t say that she didn’t want a man. Our dragon protested a bit too much to be entirely disinterested in lovers.

She looked at me oddly, “Heroes. Mysteries. The Arcane. Old stories that no one is sure are actually true, but while you’re buried in the story, you never doubt. Swordplay. Duels of honor. Magic. Griffons! _Dragons_.” She laughed at herself. “Dane and the Werewolf. The hero becomes the monster and the monster the hero, for a year and a day.” She sighed, “I wanted to live that kind of a life more than anything. But in those stories, except for the most fanciful ones, the ones no one ever believes, the heroine never gets the man. Or they start out with the man, like Andraste’s Maferath, and then she loses him to betrayal. In the  Hero of Orlais, for example, Seeker Pentaghast never once suggests to her mage lover – who had a fucking _name,_ thank you very much, it was Regalyan D’Marcall and no one ever remembers him – that they run away together! Instead she becomes the Right Hand of the Divine and he goes back all happy to his Circle as a Senior Enchanter, like that’s all he ever wanted out of life, and they never see each other again forever and ever, AMEN.” Her exuberance on the issue startled me. “That’s what happens in real life. What’s the point of having a lover that adores you if you have to give up everything, or be separated? Marriages like my parents are one in a thousand, and I’m not sure my mother was better off on dry land. My father, to my way of thinking, got the better end of the deal.”

“There’s a very important reason to have a lover that adores you, Elissa,” I teased. “Not the most important reason love is worthwhile, but its definitely up there.” I relished her blush, and noted she didn’t have a comeback prepared.

But Alistair piped right up, saving her from the uncomfortable topic. “I wondered that too, about the Hero of Orlais, I mean. The two of them just accepted their fate like little lambs for the sacrificial altar. The Seeker in that book was impossible and scary! She would have made a terrible Right Hand! She wouldn’t have even trusted the mage in the first place if she wasn’t forced to by the evil Templars that killed her mentor!” He pouted in Morrigan’s general direction, thoughtfully, “That might have been sensible, in retrospect.”

Morrigan rolled her eyes, “Spare me your prejudice, please.”

Elissa’s mouth dropped open, but she hastily closed it. “You’ve read about the Hero of Orlais?” She narrowed her eyes, “Your opinions are all wrong. I can tell already. Seeker Pentaghast killed five dragons in a single day and saved the Divine’s life. She was the only candidate for the Right Hand the Most Holy could trust. We’re going to argue about this.”

“If you insist,” Alistair sounded smug. “ I’ve also read Dane and the Werewolf. And more stories about Dragons and Griffons than you’ll find in Ferelden. I spent time with the Wardens for six months before… Ostagar. I’ve seen some of their libraries. Mind you, they weren’t all in Common.” He hesitated, “Have you read about the Black Fox?”

“Oh, he’s brilliant!” Elissa stumbled slightly.

“If you like swordplay, I hear there’s an up and coming author in Kirkwall. Tetras? Therris? I can’t remember. But I guess his stuff is going be mostly action and adventure. The Wardens were talking about it before… Ostagar.” He stared at his moving feet for a while. “They were going to order it, and pass it around during the Blight. Chapter by chapter as it came out. Hard in Hightown, I think it was called. Hardened guardsmen and women, getting things done by skating the law.” His voice was faster, speeding past the memories of his dead comrades.

“Well, that sounds riveting,” she flushed.

I moved myself behind them both to let them continue their conversation. At least they had determined they had something in common besides blades.

I hadn’t expected her to be quite so determined against marriage and love, but I suppose that when your parents are the basis for a mildly bawdy song it’s a lot easier to just not try for love at all, much less true love. Of course, easy never defeated an Archdemon, either. Perhaps the key to Elissa’s heart was to make her realize that some things are worth fighting for besides revenge and saving the world.

I wouldn’t know. My own first love affair was a sad, sad mess, and left the former object of my affections standing in the rain, apparently under the impression I would have shoved her off a cliff as soon as she would have slit my throat after selling me out as a spy. My second was the sort that would be forever unrequited. So far, I would say that I was doomed to be immortalized in a murder ballad of the most morbid kind, or the saddest song ever written.

I didn’t much care for the sad ballads any longer. There were far too many of them. Had our dragon not all but banned ‘The Soldier and the Seawolf’ from my repertoire, I would have introduced Alistair to it. That song, at the very least, had a rollicking tempo and a humorous story.

But that night in camp, ‘The Girl of Red Crossing’* was the only song I was humming, despite my desire for something more cheerful.

If you’re unfamiliar with it, it’s the story of a true love split by misunderstanding and ending in tragedy, with both lovers dead at the end.

It may have had something to do with my determination that their story would end more satisfactorily.

Apparently, I had a long road to travel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love this particular codex entry. Sue me. You learn in Inquisition, that it's about a true love story, about an elven man - an Emerald Knight - and a human girl, who have agreed to marry, only to have a willful misunderstanding take place, and the woman killed by his fellow knights.
> 
> In the tomb of the Emerald Knights, you find a wreath of dried daisies - echoing the chorus of the song - with a letter from the elven man saying he was going to meet her at the Chantry as soon as he returned from patrol.
> 
> But what happened - her death by elven arrow - kicked off the Second Exalted March and the theft of the Dales from the elves with the massacre at Red Crossing.
> 
> But damn, it's a beautiful song - tragic and lovely. Someone with musical skills should put it to music.


	5. Too Soon?

It seemed that for every step I made towards Elissa recognizing that companionship was a valuable thing, and that Alistair was willing to provide it in every form, there were two steps back.

As we reached the West Road, Elissa ran into a merchant, who gave her a control rod to a Golem. You might think it odd timing, but such things frequently happened to us. Sometimes for the better, sometimes not. Once we just ’happened’ to run into a crater from a falling meteorite that she took metal from to build a sword.  I'm not joking.  So, naturally, in this case she turned and headed south – in completely the opposite direction of the Circle Tower - for the village where the thing supposedly stood, ignoring the plight of young Connor and his noble father entirely in favor of the allure of having a Golem at her command.

Honnleath hardly inspired romance, or a fire in your silken nethers. Not that Elissa’s were silk. They were hopelessly practical, quality Avvar cotton that probably cost a fortune. I saw them later, as we were bathing off the darkspawn blood in the lake just outside of town. I shouldn’t have looked, I know, but I’m only human.

Of course, battling Darkspawn in lacy Orlesian smallclothes would have been entirely ridiculous. I missed the frippery of my home far more than the people, as sad as that is to admit.

It was my first battle against darkspawn, since I missed the minor skirmishes on the way to Lothering. I don’t like to dwell on it. If I choose to deflect the memory with an attempt at humor, I hope you’ll forgive me. I am not making light of the lives that were lost there. Honnleath was… a tragedy.

Once Elissa convinced Shale that it was in her best interest to tag along with us. As we turned back towards the Tower, Shale and Alistair got in an argument about whether ‘it’ was a respectful term for their ‘squishy’ leader. Elissa didn’t care in the slightest what Shale called her otherwise. But Alistair cared.

It didn’t endear him to either Shale or Elissa. Of course, Elissa’s teasing recommendation that Shale attack Alistair as a test of the control rod wasn’t precisely friendly, either.

Sometimes she took her jokes too far. In this case, I think she was trying to forget a little girl and a grieving father. We all were, but it still wasn‘t kind.

And then we finally reached Kinloch Hold. A simple day trip that should have found us allies and assistance with Connor’s situation back at Redcliffe turned into a romp through the Fade, with a new friend named Wynne in place of Morrigan, who bluntly refused to enter the Tower at all (such a smart young lady, whatever her views on the Maker), Sten sharing his cookies with a newfound Templar friend on the banks, and Shale and Alistair in an argument about who would accompany ‘it’ further.

Elissa picked Alistair, for his Templar abilities, as we had been warned that the Tower was in… disarray, to put it mildly. You would have thought she had complimented his hair, for as puffed up as he was.

Evidently no one had taught him not to gloat. She didn’t like that, either.

Their whole story had twisted out of my control. Ever since Shale had joined our little team, they had been arguing and sniping at each other. Over nothing! It was a relief to leave Shale to stomp her way around intimidating the Templars and give us a bit of a break from the grating insults.

I finally pulled Alistair aside, somewhere on the third floor, as our illustrious leader investigated a ritual with Wynne. He was staring at his friend with despairing eyes and a pouty lip. “Tell her you were wrong.”

“Wrong? About what?”

“I don’t know, Alistair. Pick something! About Shale’s usefulness. About the Blight. About going to Redcliffe first, about not sacrificing that bitch Isolde! Pick something!”

“We’re not fighting!”

“The Void you are. She thinks you don’t trust her judgment! She thinks you think she’s wasted time trying to recruit some help for you and Sten in the form of a stone monument that calls her ‘it’! Do you honestly think her so enamored of Golems that she would let herself be belittled like that otherwise?”

Mind you, her timing could have been better. Connor’s demon could well have slaughtered his uncle and mother by now, with the timing of our little detour. Still, Shale might well make an overall difference in our campaign.

“I… I don‘t think that…”

“Just talk to her already, Alistair. Apologize. Tell her, for all of our sakes, that you trust her. That you didn’t mean to question her authority, and hurt her feelings. Then do us all a favor and kiss her.”

Alistair sputtered, “But I don’t want… I don’t… It’s not like that! She‘s in charge!  I... look to her for guidance.”

“The Void it isn’t. You like her. Yes, that way. And we all know, including Shale. No one is that blind, even a moving rock with a soul that‘s only traveled with us for two days. And if she‘s in charge, you put her there."

I caught him staring at her mouth several times over the next few hours. I nearly gave up. It looked that hopeless. Especially since his version of the Fade had been him introducing her to his sister, as someone of importance in his life. You can’t lie in the Fade, and the Desire demon knew exactly what he wanted.

As for my own experience in the Fade – I think it’s best to leave that a secret. I never said I was going to share all the secrets, and this isn’t my story, it’s theirs. I’m just the one who is fortunate enough to tell it.

The rest of the horrors of the tower are best left to the true historians. Elissa had to make a very difficult choice, and while I believe she chose wisely, her eyes were troubled afterward, flashing between the living mages with barely concealed worry. Still, she gained the help necessary for both the Blight, and young Connor.

It’s hard to call it a success, when there was so much death and destruction left behind. A certain young Templar, one of the few survivors, said things that still haunt her to this day. That they haunt him too, as I well know, is not much comfort to any of those of us that lived through it.

Many of us that survived the Blight have these kind of scars on our soul. We try not to dwell on them, but we know we are marked, all the same. We are all guilty of saying and doing things that reflect the worst sides of our nature while under pressure, are we not? None of us are innocents. And we were all killers. For my part, I know I am.

But I’m telling a story, not preaching a homily.  Forgive me.

Elissa approached Alistair that night, crawling up to him to where he sat on a rock at the edge of our camp, and showed him a Golem statuette that she had found somewhere, checking to make sure that Shale wasn’t eavesdropping first. They laughed over it awkwardly together, and then she gave it to him.

He looked at her, far more suspicious than with any prior gift she had given him, “Why?”

“Do I need a reason?” She twisted a loose thread on her gambeson around her fingers, and wasn’t meeting his eyes.

“Yes. How do you want me to act? Do you want me to put on a happy face and say ‘For me? Really?! Oh, you shouldn’t have!’” His voice was higher than usual, mocking and bordering rude.

“If it means that you’re happy, yes.” She was hurt, trying to make nice, and he was being an ass. I stifled an impatient huff in my shadows, mentally urging him to get on with it. “The Fade sucked for everyone. I was a rat more than half the time, mistaken for a mouse, which for a rat is humiliating, forced to crawl through dirty holes, and I’m trying to forget what it felt like to be a Golem, less I start speaking like Shale and calling you ‘squishy‘ and ‘it‘. I don’t even want to think about the rest…”

He sighed, and apparently my vibes were strong that day. “I love it. In fact, that’s what I’ll name it. ‘It’, the Golem.” His thumbs were stroking it nervously, his fingers tapping random patterns on its glossy back. “But that’s not what I’m talking about, Elissa. I mean – why do you give me things? More things than Sten, or Leliana…”

“I gave Wynne four random things I had just lying in my pack today. One was a novel I, um, ‘confiscated’ from the Tower. Shale is staring at her rock collection in admiration as we speak. Sten is currently studying a picture of rotting fruit in a silver bowl and muttering about the discipline required to accurately depict such things on canvas. I’m not… singling you out, Alistair.”

I could hear the lies in her words. “Aren’t you?” I mouthed, and Alistair echoed me.

“The things you give me are… they’re just for me. Personal and deliberately chosen. They aren’t old history books or whatever you gave Morrigan earlier that had her so gleeful. You…” He stared down at the Golem desperately, as if the object would give him the words to say. An odd thing to expect, if our Golem friend was representative of her brothers.

But it might have worked. Alistair breathed deeply and pushed on. “I’ve begun to care for you, Elissa. More than I should… perhaps. And if all this… stuff doesn’t mean anything to you, I’d rather you take it back. Including my mother’s amulet…” He started to fumble around his neck for the clasp that had slipped forward and was currently resting in the hollow of his throat with the blackened stone.

I nearly screamed at them both to stop, and start over. It had all gone wrong.

“No,” she caught his hands. She had touched him again. They both froze, their faces strained and agreeably close together. I held my breath. She searched his face, and relaxed. “You’re right. It… means more, with you. I like choosing things I know you’ll like. I don’t… I don’t know why.”

“Don’t you?” Alistair asked quietly, their hands still tangled together behind his neck. She tightened her fingers. I could see the pulse in his throat speeding up. She closed her eyes, as if to better concentrate, and opened her mouth to speak.

And he kissed her, a soft but firm touch of his lips to hers. She jerked back in surprise, her eyes wide and bright, her hands falling from his neck to his shoulders. “Oh. I… I didn‘t… think…”

“Yeah, I get it,” Alistair shifted back, looking away, his heart breaking in his averted eyes. “I’ll… I’ll just leave you alone then. It’s fine. We can still work together. I just… I thought that maybe you‘d…” He scowled. “Alistair the fool strikes again...”

I saw the panic cross her face, and a blaze of determination in her eyes that drowned the fear twisting there. She forced his cheek back up with her hand, and pressed her lips back to his, stiffly. Dazed, he pulled back a moment later and echoed, “Oh.” He kissed her again, softer this time, and smiling, his eyes crinkled up at the corners with joy. I found myself nodding with approval. He would get the hang of it. So would she. With a great deal of practice. “Was… was that too soon?”

I was incredibly close to snorting and giving away my position.  Too soon?  Really?

“I don’t know? Maybe… maybe I need more practice to be sure. Yeah,” she smiled, and sniffed self-consciously, her lips twisting. “So, I guess I… care about you, too. Is that a problem, Warden?” She twitched slightly, settling back down next to him on the rock, her hand finding that stray thread that I swore I would trim at the first opportunity. “My father was a soldier… but I already told you that. Are… are there rules about…” the panic was rising again, the strain of the worry threatening to overwhelm what progress they had made.

“Not that I know of,” Alistair took her hand. She stared at their fingers as if they would combust, her cheeks flaming red. “But… I think it’s supposed to go differently. Isn’t there supposed to be a swell of music, or a leaping fire in the background as I sweep you off your feet and into my tent? Instead, I just get the feeling we’re being watched.” He peered across his opposite shoulder in the direction of Morrigan’s campfire. “Of course, the only way we’d get a leaping fire is if someone set it,” he mentioned in a suspicious singsong voice. “And she would be more likely to set fire to me than do something romantic.”

Elissa caught my eyes and inclined her head. I nodded, and retreated, not embarrassed, though slightly surprised that she knew I was there. I had too much confidence in my skills, apparently.  Something to work on. “Nobody’s here but us, Alistair.” Awkwardly, she shuffled closer, hip against his thigh, and even more haltingly he wrapped his arm around her. “This is… nice,” I heard her say, bashful but at least less confused. “I think… I think I like being alone with you?”

“That‘s a first,” Alistair chuckled, his ears beet red. “Nobody’s ever wanted to be left alone with me before. At the Chantry whole rooms would empty when I started talking…”

“Same thing in Highever,” she muttered, and leaned against him. “Do you have any idea how terrified I am?”

“You? Scared?” Alistair laughed, deep and low, “I should be the one who is frightened, milady dragon. One wrong step and I‘m lunch.”

“No,” her voice was tight. “Please… don't?” She lifted her face back up to his, her eyes worried and dark. “Just once, it would be nice if someone…” and then her words stopped.

I didn’t hear any more, and the brush obscured my vision, but I suspect there was additional practice. I certainly hoped so. From the looks of it, they both needed it.

 


	6. The Facts of Life

For several days, there wasn’t anything else, except for a tendency for Alistair to drop heavy, metal objects (of which our camp had many) when she came too near, and stammer a good morning, or good evening, or burn the rabbit (of which we had few) while he watched her instead. No slinking off into the shadows to make panting noises, or suspicious adjournments to her tent, only to emerge disheveled and/or in need of bathing.

Apparently the Orlesian novels of my youth combined with Marjolaine’s whirlwind courtship had misled me, expecting to see something else more quickly. I know the Randy Dowager gave nothing more than two scarves to anything that claimed to be a slow burn. This particular story wouldn’t even rate one at the rate it was moving.

Shale and Morrigan bonded in their mutual disdain of the young man’s fumbling.

Wynne observed with the rest of us, her own history, I see now in hindsight, coloring a not so veiled warning to Elissa about broken hearts and young loves.

“We’re… it’s not like that!“ Elissa promptly denied that anything serious was going on, flushing and being the opposite of convincing. “Mind your own business.”

She marched off towards the elven camp in the forest immediately, with a muttered explanation that she had to lighten her pack. She returned with an entirely new breastplate and some extremely well made, expensive-looking arrows, which she shoved in my general direction without explanation, and a pack that looked just as heavy as before.

She really did hoard everything. You never know when you’ll need five greenstones or a dozen Warmth Balms.

I took the arrows and placed them in my quiver obediently.

She passed Alistair without a word, and he slunk up to me with a bewildered expression, “Have I been dumped?” He asked. “She told Wynne…”

“Wynne shouldn’t have butted in,” I interrupted. “Elissa is unused to having a relationship, and she’s sensitive to gossip. That’s all. Give her space, and then…”

“Wynne was just worried about us,” Alistair frowned, still staring at Elissa’s tent, as if wishing could bring her back out to speak to him. “Surely Elissa can see that?”

“No, I don’t think she does.”

He didn’t believe me, but it was more because Wynne was actually trying to darn the holes he called socks, tutting under her breath the entire time, and he had never had anyone care that much about him before.

He stared, confused, at Elissa as she avoided him, indicated that he had no idea how to ask for what he wanted, or what he had done to be ignored, and possibly dumped without being told.

We met the assassin before Elissa could overcome her embarrassment at Wynne’s attempt at an intervention – and Alistair’s discomfort with the makeup of our party increased tenfold, the poor boy. In his defense, we were a motley crew. A former Crow was just the icing on the tiny cake.

Zevran’s ruse was inadequate, if he actually intended to carry out Elissa or Alistair‘s murder. I remain unconvinced of his intentions. I expect a certain level of capability in my trained killers. But he was undeniably attractive, if he meant to infiltrate as a honeypot. He knew it, too. What little confidence my unpracticed friend had in the appearance of his hair, muscular build, and the way he handled his sword melted away entirely in the presence of the svelte and suave elf’s flirting.

“Should I get a tattoo?“ I sat by the stream, trying to rinse out my limited clothing, having borrowed Wynne’s lavender scented soap to attempt to get them really clean.

“No.” I replied curtly. “You should go talk to her.”

“She hasn’t left - _him_ \- all evening! When I am supposed…”

“Now! Find an excuse… go tell her that Ser Wulfred stole something again, and demand recompense! Tell her that you have a splinter and need an injury kit out of her pack! Or better yet, give her the damned rose you pressed in Lothering and tell her she‘s the most beautiful thing the world has seen since Andraste joined the Maker!” I gritted my teeth and scrubbed at a bloodstain a little harder. “Truly, Alistair, you have to find your confidence. She’s not interested in Zevran. And he’s not interested in her, at least not yet. He flirts as a career. I know his type.” I knew his type all too well. Marjolaine and Zevran were cut from the same sort of cloth, to my jaundiced eye.

“She just gave him a present,” he pouted, not even trying to be subtle about watching her. “Why did she give him a present?”

“Because her pack is getting heavy and she doesn’t want to be carrying around gold bars and Dalish gloves? Zevran is the only ones with fingers thin enough to fit, and they’re too nice to just leave somewhere or sell off. She gives us all presents, Alistair.”

He frowned at me. “You’re far too logical about this. My heart is breaking into tiny little bits and you‘re telling me to let it go! You’re supposed to sympathize, and plot with me to regain her affections. As her best friend, you have that duty.”

“You haven’t lost them in the first place! The only reason it’s not you speaking to her right now, is because you didn’t get there first,” I pointed out, exasperated, wringing out my tunic a little more vigorously than necessary. “It’s that simple, Alistair. Go on. I bet you five coppers – no, silvers – that if you walked over there right this minute, took her hand and said, ‘I want to show you something over behind that tree’, that she would go.”

Alistair’s face cleared, “What’s behind the tree?”

“The two of you,” I leaned in, imparting a great secret indeed, “out of sight of everyone in camp, with your arms around her. With the added benefit of establishing permanently to a certain elf we’re newly acquainted with that you two are involved.” I enunciated my last words very clearly, to make sure their meaning suck in.

Alistair wasn’t stupid, but he was inexperienced. “Do you think she’d like that? Being… involved? With me, I mean.”

My head hit the rock in front of me. Andraste granted me patience in exchange for the sacrifice of all the skin off my forehead. “Yes, Alistair. I do.” I was just as frustrated with Elissa’s imposed distance as with Alistair’s lack of initiative. But she would say yes.

He shoved himself upright on one hand, and I gently approved of the way the firelight played across his muscles. He tried to walk confidently, but nearly tripped over a ball that Wulfy had left in the middle of camp. He picked it up, and tossed it away to the dog‘s general delight, realizing too late that it was still covered in dog slobber and grit. He wiped it on his pants, panicking in my general direction.

I made shooing movements in encouragement. It’s not as if our dragon had any objection to dog drool. She practically bathed in the stuff. Hard not to, with an enthusiastic Wulfy at her side.

Elissa’s surprised smile when he took her hand and pulled her away with a smooth smirk and nary a reddened cheek, was all the thanks I needed, and she eagerly made her excuses to Zevran, who exchanged an amused glance with me as soon as they were out of sight and earshot. “The first blush of love, yes?”

“Something like that,” I admitted. “I admit, watching them, it’s a bit hard to tell. Were there ever two such complete idiots?”

“I believe I can help,” he smiled winningly. “I am an expert at the tender arts.” I rolled my eyes, though I had no doubt he was exactly that. Antivans have a certain reputation that they take great pains to encourage.

“Somebody had better,” Wynne grumped, “Or the poor boy may self-combust.” As always, her eyes followed him, worried. “They are both devoted to each other, aren’t they?”

Mentally, I revised my opinion of Wynne. “They could be, if given opportunity, I think.”

“Perhaps I was a bit harsh, earlier,” Wynne muttered to herself, and then gathered up her book and sewing. “I do know how to admit when I’m wrong,” she scowled in my direction.

“I didn’t say anything,” I blinked innocently.

“You didn’t have to,” she smiled then, and glanced at the trees. “I was young once but…” she cleared her throat, “should someone try to tell them… if neither of them is fully familiar with the process behind… it would be terrible if something unexpected should happen.”

Zevran cackled, and I hid a smile. “I’m fairly certain that they are both acquainted with the facts of life, Enchanter.”

She pursed her lips together, “Yes, I suppose so…” and then she smiled, so wickedly that I couldn’t help but approve, “But we can’t be sure, can we? I’ll bring it up, discreetly, of course, to Alistair on our way to Denerim.”

When she did, "Alistair, I think it's about time someone told you how babies are made," I was sure I had never heard Elissa laugh at all, as her poor would-be suitor failed to deflect Wynne’s gentle instructions. This was beyond her nervous trill from before – it was bell-like, like the Chantry at midday, joyous and ringing.

After hearing it, Alistair quit protesting our Enchanter’s advice, in favor of casting little glances at Elissa instead, his cheeks as ruddy as if he had spent an entire afternoon in the sun. His eyes were thoughtful and warm, and his lady drew his gaze like an embrium turns to face the light.

That night, I believe there was a great deal of practice from the sounds in the shadows. I suspect that he was trying to get her to laugh like that again. I know I would have been. But I maintained my distance. An audience would only make Alistair anxious.

 


	7. Hard and Soft

I let them leave me outside by the bazaar when we reached Alistair’s sister’s house in Denerim a few days later. I could hear whining from a harridan of a voice, and exchanged a surprised look with Wynne. Neither of us expected anyone related to Alistair to be quite so… calculating in her demands.

Alistair’s heartbroken face was a stab wound when they emerged, but Elissa had been whipped into a furious mess. At least half the shouting had been her. She kicked a nearby barrel, breaking a wooden slat, and then kicked another one, and another. “I take it that didn’t go well?” I asked quietly.

“No,” Alistair answered curtly. “She… she just wanted money. Elissa refused to give her a penny.” He was directing all his anger at our dragon. “What Goldanna must think of me… of us!”

“Alistair Theirin, you have to stop caring what people think!” Elissa exploded in a fury that I had never seen from her outside the battlefield. I saw a curtain flutter at the window, and narrowed my eyes. We had an audience. I inclined my head in Wynne’s direction, and she sent a subtle lightning spell in the direction of the shutters. There was a bitten off curse and the curtain dropped. I resolved to thank Wynne personally, later. Alistair and Elissa never even noticed. “Everyone in this world thinks about themselves first. Your bitch of a sister is no exception. Of course she’s going to claim that she has five children to feed when her so-called brother, the son of the King, shows up on her doorstep! I didn’t see a single sign of a child anywhere in that house, did you? It‘s not in the best location, certainly, and it‘s rather large for just a simple laundress, isn‘t it?!”

“No,” Alistair stated simply, his anger already deflating. “But we could have given her something… and what are you implying about my sister‘s occupation?!” His drawn eyebrows were hiding pain, dark and bitter.

“We could have afforded to give her something, but I won’t,” Elissa’s lips were white, and I rather expected steam from our dragon’s nostrils. “That woman isn’t your sister. I’m more your family than she’ll ever be! As for her occupation, I‘m fairly certain, despite your innocence, that you know exactly what she does for a living!”

Alistair was even quieter, “Yes, I suppose you’re right.”

Elissa threw her helm on the ground. “Damn it, argue with me! Don’t just meekly agree! Tell me that she’s poor and struggling! We give people money constantly to help them build better lives! Tell me that we could do something meaningful without giving her money! Tell me that…”

“What’s the point of arguing with you?” Alistair’s voice was tired, defeated. I had never seen him so resigned. “She’s… she’s a shrew! My only family is a money-grabbing laundress and part-time prostitute. Nothing like your missing heir of a brother, or legendary parents, or…”

“This isn’t about my family,” Elissa hissed. “And for the last time, that woman isn’t related to you. It’s obvious. Can’t you see that? Cailan was more of a brother to you than that woman a sister. At least he spared your life at the Tower of Ishal. He gave you something. She only wants to take.” She grabbed her helm from the ground with a defiant swing. “I’m going to the Gnawed Noble for a drink, and to get some information. Maybe find us some work. Figure out where I can sell some stuff. If you want to come along, you’re welcome.” She marched in the opposite direction, but the three of us stayed.

Alistair just stood there, eyes dry, and watched her walk away. “I suppose that’s that, then,” he muttered, as if to himself. “I should have known better than to hope.”

“Whatever do you mean?” I knew exactly what he meant. The boy was convinced now that he had nothing to offer the Lady Elissa, however far she had fallen from her birth.

“My only living family is that,” he motioned with his chin over his shoulder, and then stared at his overlarge feet, like a lost child trying not to cry. “I was hoping Goldanna would be pleasant at least, if not someone that… cared. But nobody cares about Alistair the Bastard, do they?”

“I’m sorry about your sister,” I stated softly. “But you have someone that cares about you, Alistair. Someone that cares a great deal.”

He choked, the tears that wouldn’t come lodged in his throat. “I thought I did. If she cared, why did she say such things, and then just… leave?!”

“Because if she stayed, she was going to kill your sister with her family’s sword in a misdirected attempt to defend you. It would have caused massive repercussions for your cause, if a Warden killed a simple laundress without provocation,” Wynne surprised me by speaking up. “I have never seen a woman so angry,” she opined, frowning thoughtfully, “And I’ve seen rage abominations. I think we should be glad our Lady Warden was not born a mage.”

Alistair blinked and looked up. “Angry… at me?”

“For you, Alistair,” Wynne assured him. “She’s drinking right now because you, my boy, deserve so much better than that…” her words failed her. “You deserve better.”

His eyebrows went up, and then back down in confusion. “I don’t deserve…”

Wynne sighed, and rubbed her arms, as if she was cold. “I once failed to pursue something that everyone around me told me was impossible, only to hold proof in my hands later of exactly the opposite.” She glanced down, as if embarrassed. “I gave up a chance at happiness because of what everyone else would think. Because I would have to give up things I worked hard for in order to make it work. Because it meant a difficult life. I’ve struggled to come to terms with the results of that decision.” She looked fierce now. “And that is what your young lady is trying to tell you. If you want something, take it, and damn the consequences. That‘s better than spending the rest of your life regretting that you never took a risk.”

Alistair frowned in confusion. “She’s not mine… she just left!”

“She is,” I interjected immediately. “Alistair, you have to see that.” Alistair’s hurt eyes swung between us like a pendulum.

“If you truly want to be with her,” Wynne continued, her eyes far away, “then you have to tell her. As soon as possible. Before you both make mistakes that you can’t fix.” She sighed, “You know, I am going to go have a drink after all. I‘m feeling far too nostalgic for my own peace of mind.” She turned in the direction of the tavern and the two of us watched the dust billow up around her feet and robes as she followed Elissa‘s path of a few moments before.

Alistair turned to me, even more confused, “Leliana, do you think…”

“Yes,” I pressed my lips together. “Alistair, I have to agree with Elissa’s opinion, though I would have expressed it better. You spend too much time worrying about what other people think. You don‘t want to claim a relationship with that… woman. Not really.”

“You would have told me with less throwing, and no bruised toenails?” Alistair’s weak smile turned up slightly and then disappeared. “I guess… I guess I’ll think about it, then.”

“Don’t think too hard,” I urged gently. “Some things… some things should be felt instead.” I struggled slightly, “If you wait and wait for the right moment, it might never come.” With that, I straightened, “I think I could use a drink as well.” Wynne’s talk about living with the consequences of her actions - Marjolaine still haunted me in the familiar alleys of Denerim, where our last adventure had begun.

The memories made me far too melancholy, and lonely in a way I hadn’t been for quite some time. They took me hostage, a prisoner and victim all over again.

Alistair went back to camp. But Elissa grumped around Denerim, talking to armorers and Tranquil, upgrading our equipment. She gave us all permission to take our ease elsewhere, electing to work alone, as much as possible. She assured us it would be nothing too dangerous – she was just going to visit the scholar’s home that Isolde had hired to find the Sacred Ashes in hopes of finding out more information.

I hoped idly, as I let myself into the Pearl, determined to spend what remained of my time in Denerim forgetting my past, that Alistair was spending the time thinking and perhaps speaking to Ser Wulfred about it all, and that Elissa’s temper would die out overnight.

I got my wish, though not quite in the manner I was expecting.

The next morning, under the smugly superior gazes of Sten, Morrigan and Shale, as Wynne, Zevran and I nursed our hangovers and tried not to gag on our porridge, and Alistair shoved his around the tin plate with his spoon. Elissa seemed hesitant, and regretful.

I thought I knew why until she started talking.

“So…“ Elissa spooned up her own porridge, fidgeting slightly with the spoon, “Remember when I told you that I was going to go to that Genitivi bloke‘s house? Well - I think a dragon-worshipping cultist murdered his assistant. I killed him,” she hastened to reassure us. My eyebrows lifted, given that she thought a dead cultist would help ease the blow of the danger she had put herself in. “No worries about that. But… we should probably leave Denerim sooner rather than later, before Howe‘s Guards and Loghain‘s toadies catch up with me.”

Zevran choked, “You… killed a dragon cultist? Just like that?”

“Yes,” Elissa admitted slowly. “But he was trying to kill me first! I was just having a look around and found the real Weylon’s body! If it was anyone but Howe‘s Guard, I could claim self-defense and get off. He killed a Chantry brother! It‘s not like I took an innocent life!”

“They always try to kill you first,” Wynne sighed. “The way you attract aggressive people… Where are we going now, Warden?”

“I was thinking, maybe we should go back to Ostagar, and the Korcari Wilds? The Guard won’t follow us into darkspawn territory. And we can follow up on those sensitive documents Cailan‘s guard mentioned before he died… Plus, Morrigan says she needs to kill her mother sooner rather than later. We could make a good use out of the time while I stay out of sight.”

Alistair spit his porridge into the fire, and lifted his eyes to her, wide with disbelief.

Apparently, Elissa had her own ways of dealing with stress and strained relationships. They involved crime sprees, killing darkspawn hordes, and confronting a Witch of the Wilds in her home. But… it seemed to help. She seemed far more like herself today.

“The way I see it, either we kill Flemeth, head to Orzamaar, or go look into this Haven place,“ Elissa lifted her chin, and let a single guilty smile cross her face, the lines of it tinged with regret, the beginning of an apology for her lost temper. Alistair swallowed, hard, and I know I had never seen him weigh her so carefully, his eyes narrowed in silent calculation. He didn’t say a word for or against. “I think Ostagar is likely to have less darkspawn than the Deep Roads, don’t you? What is it you keep saying, Leliana? That practice makes perfect? I think we could use more practice before we confront an archdemon.” She rose regally, and smiled softly, specifically at Alistair, and then strolled away, intentionally giving him space, porridge in hand and calling for Wulfy. She placed her plate down before her dog and gave him permission to eat all of it.

Alistair forgot his own breakfast as well, in favor of watching her, one eyebrow tilted as he thought, his lips pressed together.

Despite my headache and churning gut, I greatly approved of the change in plan. Now, it seemed, we were getting somewhere. In more ways than one.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of my few criticisms about Origins is how suddenly Alistair is all over you right after you talk with his 'sister'. It seemed strange, like he didn't need time to process her rejection of him, no matter what the Warden's response was to the shrew.
> 
> So my apologies to those who were expecting me to follow canon here. A departure is in order. I think it makes a better story.
> 
> And yes, I have written smut for this fic, and no it is not from Leliana's POV. She might be a voyeur, but she does give her friends space occasionally. ;) I'm undecided whether to post it as a related work or just as a chapter on its own. I'd love to hear input about which way I should go.


	8. Feast Day Pranks

The road back to the Korcari Wilds was long from Denerim. Elissa indulged in her version of a prolonged sulk for a few days, her guilt over her lost temper more powerful than her anger with Goldanna.

I suspect her frustration had a great deal more to do with Alistair still not speaking to her than Goldanna‘s continued existence, but I couldn’t be sure. She kept stealing little glances at him, sniffing sadly, and then trying to distract herself with something else. She had tried to apologize, but Alistair had given no sign that he heard. I suspect it was too soon. His personality inclined to broodiness, and he wasn’t speaking to any of us, except Wulfy.

Wulfy was the best listener, of course. We all told him our troubles, except perhaps for Sten and Shale. I don’t think those two had any troubles to speak of. Of course, for Morrigan, Wulfy was half her troubles in the first place.

Four days out from Denerim, we awoke to Morrigan’s cackling from all the way across the camp. The sound of her laughter was rare enough for us all to poke our heads out of our tents, just in time to witness the subsequent curse as she tossed a copy of what looked like the Chant of Light into her fire in disgust. We all hastened, once we realized the occasion, to unwrap our own presents, left outside our tents or at the end of our bedrolls, with shifty glances at what the others had received.

Naturally, the pranks were far funnier to those of us who hadn’t received them. The best pranks always are. Alistair limped for a half a day, our cruel dragon snickering the whole time until Wynne made Morrigan put the pins away. It might have been petty revenge on her part for an imagined slight, but it was amusing, all the same.

It wasn’t a lingering injury. Forgive me for my base amusement.

It didn’t help that all he had received from his lady dragon was his father’s shield and a genealogical history of the Kings of Ferelden. Odd, considering how many things she was carrying around that he would love, but I trusted that she had a plan. I waited, and watched, when she disappeared into her tent (we had elected not to move on that day, due to the Feast Day), and didn’t come out for several hours.

I was right. She found him alone later (alone being relative, naturally) and presented him with a elaborate pair of Grey Warden puppets, embroidered to look like the two of them. They were the work of someone with a little skill, though the woman‘s eyes were slightly crooked. Elissa, no matter her spoken disdain for the traditionally female arts, was not without certain accomplishments.

“Elissa…” he swallowed, and smiled at her briefly, eyes folding at the corners, and taking them in hand. “Are these for me?”

“I… made them,” she admitted, shoving her hair behind her ear. She had left it loose, after I had told her it looked lovely down a few days before. Clever girl. I could see Alistair’s fingers twitching to touch it. “I’m sorry they weren’t ready this morning, but you cannot believe how long it took to prepare Morrigan’s doll… I had to steal your comb…” Alistair’s expletive rather ruined the apologetic mood, but she hung her head. “I suppose I deserve that.” Her smile was sheepish. “I want to apologize for being personally responsible for the worst week of your life. Will you let me do it now that I‘ve made up for letting Morrigan give you stabbing pains in your feet and insinuating that you are your father‘s son?”

Alistair sat down abruptly and flushed in the direction of the previously mentioned feet, rather than meet her eyes. “You’re joking, right? This is another prank? Because this has been the best Feast Day I‘ve ever had, Elissa. Despite the limping. And Maric‘s shield, which I refuse to carry. Or that horrible book. Who writes a whole book about one family anyway? Bor-ing. Still, I‘ve never had so many presents from someone, much less someone that cared about me.”

She blinked at him, “What? Ignoring that comment about presents… really? But… you’re mad at me! You‘ve been angry for days and days…” she sat down next to him, as if her legs had given out.

Alistair grinned, “Not really. I thought you were mad at me at first, but then I realized you felt…” he cleared his throat, “Well, that doesn’t matter. I love the puppets.” He slid the man on his hand, saluted across his chest with his thumb, and in a mockery of his usual voice, “Permission to kiss the dragon, Warden Commander?”

Elissa blinked again, and then smiled, and picked up the other puppet. “Denied, Warden Cheesy.” She tilted the puppet deftly and made a little kissing sound as the cloth faces met. “Don’t waste your time on dragons. That’s an order,” she clarified in a small voice, “They’ll just devour you when you least expect it. Princes have to be careful about these things. Natural hazard that comes with the title.” She hung her head a little further. “I’m sorry I lost my temper with your… sister, Alistair. You don’t have to listen to what I said. You don’t have to listen to what anyone says. You do just fine on your own. Better than I do.”

Alistair swallowed, and looked up to meet her eyes, still shyly. He searched her face for truth, and smiled wide, and, I was surprised to note, a little wickedly. “What if I want to listen? It‘s not every day a fellow is told to do what he wants, after all.” Elissa‘s cheeks reddened, but instead of looking away in embarrassment, Alistair reached up to draw her over to meet his lips, the hand with the puppet still attached slipping behind to cup her head. “I’ll take the risk with the dragon, all due respect intended, Warden Commander, Ser. I… I know what I want.”

I smiled with satisfaction, noticing she didn’t protest any further, as Alistair half curled around her, showing more mastery with his mouth than I had seen to date, Elissa‘s own puppet slipping off as she ruffled the edge of his hair and pressed closer. He had grown almost bold. All to the better. I slipped away, leaving them to their own devices.

I admit to disappointment when they joined us again a mere five minutes later. That hadn’t been enough time for anything substantial. Zevran was rather loud in his disdain and teasing about Alistair‘s prowess, but I knew that we weren’t over the major hurdles yet. Even if they were more at ease around each other again, it would take time.

To put it colloquially, that cherry had yet to be popped.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be a separate collection of short fics attached to this story coming out in the next few weeks, with stories told from different points of view. It will be called 'The Royal Vault: Untold Treasures behind Fereldan Locks' and thus has my best title ever.
> 
> The first chapter of it will be NSFW, and will be posted on the same day as the next chapter of this fic. Keep your eyes out for it. If you like that sort of thing, anyway.
> 
> Not all the stories will be smutty. I'll post the NSFW part in the chapter title. At least one will be from Shale's POV, actually.


	9. Roses are Red, and So is Dragon's Blood

Not surprisingly, Morrigan opted not to be of the party that challenged her mother. “You’ll manage far better without me. Take Wynne. I’m sure her abilities will be more of an asset than mine when mother… surprises you.”

Elissa didn’t press the issue, just motioned to Wynne, Alistair, Sten, Shale and I, and headed into the Wilds towards the witch’s hut.

Flemeth was a dragon of an opponent. And, no, for once I‘m not speaking in metaphors. She was a real dragon, with all the teeth, horns, claws, and fire that the word insinuates - not to mention a damn tail that was perpetually knocking me off my feet. I probably still have the bruises fifteen years later. So kind of her daughter to warn us. But then, no one would accuse Morrigan of being forthcoming. Probably came of being raised in isolation - no socialization skills whatsoever.

Elissa laughed later that at least she wasn’t an over-sharer. She always saw the bright side.

But on that day, my friend rose to the occasion, like a heroine of old, and the dragon lay dead at our feet, eventually. We stood around and stared at the carcass like fools, blood-spattered, slightly singed, with the smell of the burning hair and leather that surrounded us not dissipating quickly enough.

I was trying very hard not to vomit. Dead dragons smelled dreadful.

Alistair spoke first, nearly babbling in his shock.

“And… you just killed a dragon. A dragon who used to be Flemeth,” Alistair blinked in shock at the pile of scales and bones remaining of what – was possibly – once the Witch of the Wilds. “What will you do next, Elissa?”

“I guess I’ll go find another dragon. Someone has to keep Wade too busy with his favorite medium to do any other work. But I suspect I am more of a dragon than she ever was,” Elissa smirked irrepressibly. I had never seen her so cocky.

She had just killed a dragon, I reminded myself through my own hazy confusion as Wynne, coming back from her own stupor, healed my wounds. She had every right to be confident.

“And yet you insist that I am a prince. Dragons eat princes, you said so yourself,” Alistair mourned. “Where does that leave me?”

Elissa yawned, “Oh, it’s too late in the day for killing princes.” She winked. “I guess I’ll let you off. At least until tomorrow. When I‘ve rested.” She leaned in, and Alistair bent in as well, almost against his will, his eyes suspiciously dilated as he half-smiled in affection. “But next time I’ll swallow you whole. Watch your step, my prince.” She rose and swayed away, a combination of fatigue and her natural grace, to find a place to rinse off in the creek nearby, stretching unselfconsciously. “This dragon is rather fond of cheese.”

Zevran chuckled from his place beyond the fire. “And that, my inexperienced friend, was the only invitation a woman such as that will ever give you.”

“That… that wasn’t an invitation!” Alistair protested, his Maker‘s apple bobbing several times in succession. “That was a threat! Wasn’t it?” His chest heaved, unable to catch his breath. I exchanged a knowing look with Wynne, who was stifling her own smile.

Perhaps dragon’s blood, for all its other uses, is also an aphrodisiac.

Zevran scoffed, “With her, it makes no difference.” He sighed, “Ah, young love, it is sweet, it is clueless, it is deadly…”

Wynne finished her ministrations, and I shook myself out of my daze wandering over to where we had placed our equipment - luckily undamaged even after the dragon‘s thrashing - and picked up my instrument to strum my lute lovingly as I listened to the conversation beyond me. I needed to anchor myself in the music for a little while, and try to calm my own heart.

Zevran wasn’t wrong. Love could be a trap, as well as bliss. A lock, as well as freedom.

But sometimes it was pleasurable to be confined, when you chose your bindings. I suspected Zevran knew that as well as I did.

“So… I should follow her?” The man dithered. It was adorable.

“Most assuredly,” Zevran snickered. “Tell her that you want her to deflower you, pluck your petals, and toss them to the wind…”

With that, I intervened. No one knew Elissa like I. She was a friend unlike any other. She might play at being a dragon, but there was more to her than that. Underneath her bravado, she was as shaken as the rest of us at what had just transpired. Tonight - tonight she shouldn’t be alone. “Follow her, Alistair,” I advised him softly. “And say what is in your heart. No matter how foolish it seems. She will hear you.”

I prayed it would be so, creeping after them to listen, after replacing my fat lute in its case, all the while ignoring Zevran’s wheezing laughter, and Wynne’s amused chuckle, whether at my attempts at stealth or at my friends‘ innocence, I did not know, and did not care.

Elissa was my dearest friend, possibly the only person I completely trusted. She alone had believed me when I told her of my vision, without pity or instant belief in my insanity. I think, perhaps, she had even seen beyond my usefulness in a fight.

I hope so. I know that I saw beyond her lighthearted banter. She felt like she had to be so strong, so fierce, to lead us all out of the darkness consuming everything.

Some day perhaps she would see that she was more than a tool to defeat the archdemon or the means of the revenge of her family. Perhaps Alistair would help her see that, since I could not. Her fellow Warden might act younger than his years, but he was honest, and as pure a soul as I had ever met. A wonderful boy, who was becoming a man under the harshest conditions that Thedas could create.

He would give his life for her, if she allowed it. As would I. As, perhaps, would we all.

Alistair found her, her underarmor damp with the freezing water, and her hair and hands wet as she tried to rinse the sweat and dragon blood out, and bathed away the soot. He offered the rose at last – only a little worse for wear from where it had been pressed in the pages of _Dane and the Werewolf_ (an apt choice, I thought) and I could feel my heart twist, as she accepted it, staring first at the flower in the palm of her shaking hand, and then at him, with a fear in her eyes that I thought no one would ever conquer.

But I watched that fear shatter before my eyes, as Alistair fumbled his words and choked out everything he thought.

“It made me think of you, when I saw it back in Lothering. Something so beautiful, in all this despair.”

Elissa’s eyes had closed, and the terror from the fight was draining out in silent tears that she would never have admitted were falling at all. Dragons didn’t get teary. “No one has ever said… Alistair, Arl Howe wanted me for his oldest son. Not because I was lovely, or talented, strong or smart, but because I had the right last name, a hefty dowry to counter his debts, and could bear children. Heirs.” She bit off the words harshly. “I was only left alone for this long because… because… because I’m not the sort of woman that would make any man a good wife. I made sure of that.” Her face alternated between anger and fear and a wish to believe something that she had spent years believing was impossible. “Flighty, ignorant, irresponsible Elissa, without a brain in her head to counter the muscles. Not smart enough to realize that a _man_ would never let her lead him anywhere.”

My heart broke for her. She had been determined to make herself as unsuitable as possible, distrusting her parent‘s assurance that they would let her find her own way given their refusal to let her go to war. The Seawolf’s daughter, caught in the gilded cage of peace, until the war began again, and even then left at home instead of being trusted to fight with her brother. Her parents had to face their own death before they realized she was truly their daughter, equal parts soldier and monster.

Anyone who believed that Eleanor’s daughter wouldn’t shoulder her birthright was a bigger fool than even I. She was more Mac Eanraig than she was Cousland.

There was no cage large enough for a dragon. They tried to clip her wings. Instead, she grew new ones, ones made of Red Steel. She was magnificent.

“You are lovely, talented, strong, and smart, and everything else that you would probably hit me if I forget to mention,” Alistair pushed out, as if the speed of his words would make her believe him. “Elissa, I…?” His voice raised on the last word, breaking before he could continue. “I think I…”

His sentence was cut off, muffled by the sudden press of her lips against his, awkward and cold, but then warming slightly as she pushed herself against him. I was close enough to see the tracks of her tears down her face, an icy heart melting at last, almost against her will. He gathered her to him quickly, as if worried she’d back out if he didn’t.

As far as kisses went, I had seen far better. They hadn’t had enough practice after all. He was too timid, though growing bolder, and too sloppy. And she was still crying, and her hair was dripping with her recent ablutions. The whole thing looked rather… wet. But her hands crept up behind his neck, and he softened slightly, and then his ears turned the bright red of Embrium just before he pulled away at last, bowing his lower body away from her in embarrassment.

Now I understood why, exactly, they had returned so quickly before. It wasn’t her reluctance - it was Alistair‘s.

She fisted his hands in his shirt, and then forced herself to let him go, dropping her hands away and braced herself for a quick retreat, still expecting rejection despite his heartfelt words.

“Maker’s Breath,” that wonderful boy gasped out, and I relaxed as he reached out, this time to pull her back in for more at the waist, pressing her against him desperately. This time, at least, he got the tilt of his head right. Elissa stiffened, stunned for just a brief moment at the fact that he hadn’t run away, before she took the plunge and responded even more enthusiastically.

I took an involuntary step back, as he muttered against her lips. “I am a lucky man.”

“I am the lucky one.”

“I want to be with you tonight. Here, in camp. I know it‘s not perfect, you deserve better…”

“You think I want to hold out for silk sheets? Cheesy, you should know me better… all that matters is that you‘re here.”

“Elissa… I wish I had more to offer.”

I left them, stumbling backwards with more noise than I should have made. As with all things, this would take time and space to practice. Best to give it to them.

I was happy for them. Truly.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want the smut - from Elissa's POV - you'll need to visit the fic called 'The Royal Vault: Untold Treasures Behind Fereldan Locks'. One chapter is up, more are to follow as I finish drafting them. Not all will be smut.


	10. If Wishes Were Wardens, Archdemons Would Die

We traveled to Ostagar the very next day, the former battlefield encased in ice and drifting with snow. Alistair was uncharacteristically silent, and Elissa drew closer to him, I suspect unconsciously. They had come a long way from the slaughter of the place where they met, but it had left its mark on both of them. “Come on,” her voice echoed into the canyon that surrounded us. “We kill as many of them as we can. We need the practice for the Deep Roads,” her voice sounded tinny and brittle. “And if we find Cailan…” Alistair squeezed her shoulder.

“We’ll see him off right,” I spoke surprisingly clearly, given my long night. “Have no fear, Alistair. It won’t be a King’s funeral, but your brother will have a pyre. I‘ll sing the Chant myself.”

Alistair jerked at the word ‘brother’, but muttered a reluctant thanks. He would have to get more used to the words, I mused.

We began to kill, and search for the evidence that the messenger had told us of, of possible assistance from Orlais. It was distasteful to my mostly Fereldan friends, I could tell, but even they admitted they needed all the help they could get.

After many fights we recovered a letter that made Elissa shudder and Alistair pale. “This is…”

“He was going to set Anora aside,” I observed very quietly indeed. “Not surprising, after all, given her…”

Alistair growled, “It’s despicable. How dare he? They were raised with each other! She‘s never known anything except…” he dropped the greave he was polishing halfheartedly. “Maker’s Breath, never mind,” he growled, frustrated. “My entire family is a Blight in itself. I don’t want this armor. Sten - you take it.”

“You’re being even more a fool than usual,” Sten said, unusually loquaciously, but Alistair was already gone, to look over the battlefield.

“Duncan died here,” Elissa explained to me softly, and made her way down to the lower area alone. “I… I’m going to go see if I can find his body. If we can give him a pyre as well… maybe it will help Alistair.”

Her battle cries were the only sign that something was wrong. All of us came rushing down at a run, flinging ourselves back into the fray as she locked herself tight to an ogre, dodging and weaving in a macabre dance. She was an a goddess of war, helmless with her hair escaping her tight braid, and her face spattered with blood.

She had never looked so lovely. But I cheapen her skills with such a shallow recollection.

Alistair slid in and blocked a blow that might have broken her sword - or her head - snarling his defiance to the ogre. Our dragon slipped up and around, and lodged her two blades into the ogre’s back, scaling him like a rock wall - only more efficiently. “Die!” She yelled at it, and plunged her right sword into the base of its skull. It shuddered, and then fell to its knees in slow motion, as she dislodged her right blade, stood up on its shoulder blades in an impossible display of perfect balance, and decapitated it in a scissoring slash, spraying its blood everywhere.

Alistair barely rolled away as it fell, and he panted at his love, blinking dully for a moment before he lunged up to reach her side. “Maker, Elissa - are you all right? That thing didn’t hurt you…”

She shook her head free of the blood lust in her eyes. “What? No, I’m fine, Cheesy. No, it… it didn’t even attack me at first. I went after it.”

“Then why did you yell? Surely I wasn’t the only one to think it had injured you…” Morrigan was rattled as well, as odd as that seemed.

“It had these.” She ripped a dagger and a sword from the Ogre’s cold grasp, snarling again at it, and kicking it deliberately as she did so.

“Duncan’s weapons,” Alistair sat down, and she handed him the sword, her face bleak. “Elissa…”

“You told me you had nothing of his,” she muttered. “Well, now you do.” She pressed her lips together, and I could see the tears in the corners of her eyes where she fought to keep them still. “I’ve avenged him, Alistair.” She sheathed the dagger deliberately at her own hip. “And I think that darkspawn up the hill that got in between me and the ogre had the last piece of your brother’s armor. If you don‘t want it, we‘ll sell it.” She thrust her chin in the air, “I don’t think I want to camp here. And Duncan’s body is… gone. Let’s send Cailan to the Maker and leave this place.” She turned and made her way back up the hill to the fallen fortress, the late afternoon sun sinking slowly behind the buttresses casting odd shadows over her path.

Alistair didn’t watch her go, only dully staring at the sword in his hands. “She… she gave me his sword,” he muttered to himself. “Alistair, you are a fool if you don’t go after her right this minute and…” but he didn’t move and he didn’t finish his sentence either.

Wynne nudged me where I watched him, and together, the rest of us turned away to leave him with what remained of the man he admired most in the world. “We’ll send her back to him, if she doesn’t go on her own,” the woman murmured to me. “But let the lad be alone with his memories, for a little while. He’s safe enough. He lost the man he wished was his father, and the man who was his brother both, on this field, after all.”

Alistair remained alone for some time, Elissa occasionally going to the overlook to watch him but turning away every time. When he came back, his face was neither tearstained or pained. Instead, it was determined. “Leliana, you said you would Chant?”

“With pleasure, my friend.”

“Then let’s be quick, while we still have light,” he bowed to Elissa with respect and tender eyes. “Milady dragon, I thank you. On my fallen comrade’s behalf, and on my brother’s side as well. I owe you more than I can ever repay.”

The dragon snorted away his gratitude, and took his hand instead. “Oh, Cheesy. It was nothing.” She smiled at him foolishly. “I was happy to do it, for you. For Duncan. For Cailan.”

As Cailan’s body was consumed, we left Ostagar for once and for all, my sung verses of Trials echoing off the canyon walls. All of us were silent - most of us because we had witnessed the true cost of that doomed battle. It seemed to me, as we left the ruins behind us, that the entire price had fallen upon my friends.

And I found myself thinking that perhaps Cailan didn’t deserve a pyre. Whatever his younger brother wished to give him.

But then again, perhaps he had saved both their lives. It was impossible to say. Only the man himself would ever know and he was dead.

***

Over the next few days, as we took a breather to recover, I could see my friend fighting herself. She was gentle and cautious with Alistair in a way she had never been, and even while frowning over her own thoughts, she spared a smile for him. For now, they spent their nights apart, though I could tell that Alistair, at least, had no wish to lay down alone. My friend’s desires were harder to determine, as she kissed him goodnight and retired to her tent with Wulfy, the dog panting with smugness in her choice of him over other company.

“Have I done something wrong?“ Alistair worried in my general direction, “She seems… preoccupied.” He was far more at peace about both Duncan and his brother, but apparently he had to be fretting about something. “Do you think she regrets…” Zevran’s and Wynne’s teasing had shaken him, while I had been circumspect in my gentle hints, I thought.

Ideally, our confused dragon of a leader should have explained herself. But she seemed to have lost her way with words lately, her usual jokes altered in favor of thoughtful silences.

She even stopped him from rushing headlong into battle in a field full of traps, in favor of having me and Zevran sneak around and undo every one manually. It was tedious, but we barely had to touch the wolves they were laid for, as they were caught in them instead. It took too long for us to spring every single one.

No one had a single scratch when we stopped to camp. Unusual.

“She is mad at me.” Alistair stared at her back glumly. “It was what I said at Ostagar, isn’t it? About not wanting Cailan’s armor?”

“She’s protecting you,” I countered, endlessly amused. “Elissa could care less about the damn armor or who wears it. It‘s not your style - too ostentatious. You look better in darker colors. She‘s in love with you.”

“She’s definitely not in love with me,” Alistair’s face fell. “I thought maybe, that night she was, but… Leliana, it was wonderful. But she‘s barely come near me since… I must have been brutish - Maker, I didn‘t hurt her, did I? You‘d tell me if…”

I held up a hand to put off further descriptions, as I had already had them from Elissa. Complete with hand motions and lurid details. I had been impressed at her forthcoming nature - and more than slightly at Alistair‘s creative mind. “I’m sure it was delightful for both of you, my friend. That is what is troubling her, is it not? She was so sure that she knew who she was – and you’ve changed the way she sees herself, and what she wants out of her future. Just give her time. She doesn’t mean to hurt you.”

“But she is hurting me,” Alistair challenged.

I blinked, surprised. He had been slightly more forceful, I suppose, since their ill-fated trip to Goldanna’s home in Denerim, but… “Then tell her so.”

His eyebrows drew together. “I don’t want to hurt her feelings.”

“And thus, we have the dilemma of the ages,” I sighed. “Women are not Seers, Alistair. She would want to know if you are hurting, but she won‘t know if you don‘t tell her yourself.”

Zevran butted in, “Our Lady of the Dragons doesn’t have the way with words that our bard possesses. Nor can she woo like my humble self. And Wynne, wonderful attributes that she has…” the elf leered at Wynne’s ample bosom openly, “has warned her that she will never have a ‘normal’ life.”

“She wouldn’t want one,” Alistair protested immediately. “She’s said as much. You‘ve heard all heard her… she doesn‘t want marriage, or children, or a settled life…”

“But perhaps she’s changed her mind,” I prompted. “Have you asked her where she thinks your relationship is going?”

“Maker, that’s a rough question,” Alistair pouted. “There’s a Blight in the way, isn’t there? Surely she isn‘t torturing herself wondering…”

“On the contrary,” I sighed and Alistair eyes flashed with understanding worry. “But she needs to tell you, not me.”

To his credit, he stood immediately and went to seek her out by the pond. Zevran smirked and waved me forward, as elaborately as any Antivan courtier. I stood, as haughty and imperious as any Orlesian courtesan, and stalked behind them.

I remember wondering if I was becoming a voyeur, but dismissed it in favor of believing that I was just becoming a better spy. I do love knowing people’s secrets. You should love what you do.

Elissa was staring off into the distance instead of finishing Wulfy‘s bath, much to her dog’s satisfaction. Upon Alistair’s arrival he seized the moment, squirming free and taking off for Morrigan’s fire, where, from the woman’s screams, I have no doubt he promptly shook himself dry and free of the lingering soap and water.

I settled myself down to listen. At least my stealth skills were improving, with all my sneaking about. We all need a hobby, don’t we? I had left my shoe collection far behind with Lady Cecilie.

Elissa caught Alistair’s movement and smiled at him in welcome, but didn’t greet him. He settled down next to her, and she noticed Wulfy’s escape only then. “Maker’s Breath,” she sighed, tossing the brush she had been using into the mud at the edge of the pond. “He’s escaped while I was woolgathering. Wynne will be complaining about the stench…”

“You could bathe me,” Alistair said with a smirk, and I approved his forwardness. “That would improve Wynne’s attitude. I wouldn‘t wriggle away.”

Elissa bent towards him and kissed him, quickly. He caught her and held her closer for a heartbeat, but she pulled away before it went further. “Cheesy,” she half scolded and half smiled.

“That’s my name,” he laughed, lower and far sexier than I would have expected. For the first time I started to understand what Elissa saw in him. Alistair was a little different when they were alone. Less goofy. More confident. And suggesting things that might be fun.

I resisted the urge to sniff in nostalgia. The Templar boy all grown up and… playing well with others. So sweet.

“Something is on your mind,” he prompted gently. “Care to share?”

Elissa took a deep breath, “Do you… do you know where this… us, I mean, not the Blight, because we all know where that is headed, is going? I mean, what happens next? Is this a fling, something to keep us occupied during the Blight? Are you going to dump me and find some Orlesian trollop after the war, to make a peace accord like Cailan apparently was thinking about? Or…” she looked at her lap.

“You don’t flinch away from the hard questions,” Alistair picked up her hand. “Do you want the gentle answer, the funny answer, or the cruel truth?”

“Honesty,” Elissa whispered. “Always honesty. No matter how harsh.”

His eyebrows dipped in pain. “I… love you. Have I told you that? No? Well, I do. I love you,” Alistair babbled, and swallowed, trying to slow down, with a look of besotted wonder in his eyes. I marveled that he had admitted it so easily. “But… we have an archdemon standing in the way. A bit of a preoccupation of mine, actually. Nasty, black and red thing that shows up in as many of my dreams as you do. As much as I would love to lay my entire life down at your feet, the Blight got there first. And we‘re Wardens. We have a duty.”

Elissa blinked away her tears. I silently nodded, impressed, my lips pursed. Alistair was good at this. Who would have thought?

“We still have to go to Orzamaar, and at least attempt to find these Sacred Ashes Lady Isolde is so hung up on,” Alistair continued, playing with her ring finger, separating it gently from the others on her hand, spread out on his palm. “I can’t… I can’t promise…” he stammered, staring at it dumbly, “but what I want is different… I wish I could…”

“I understand,” she whispered, and tried to remove her hand. “Should we… end this?”

“NO!” Alistair grabbed at her wrist. “No,” he continued more gently. “We could die tomorrow. I know it’s foolish, that you could ever think about… me, in any kind of a permanent way…”

Elissa was staring at him now, and I swear I saw a small upwards quirk to her lower lip. “Oh, really? You‘re that bad of a catch, are you?”

“Of course I am!” Alistair glared. “I mean, look at me. I’m a mess. I don’t bathe enough, or change my socks, or have any kind of redeeming qualities whatsoever. I could die today, or tomorrow, or fall to the archdemon. I could end up King - Maker Forbid - or exiled to the Free Marches, drunk and alone. You don’t know what will happen either! I only know I…”

“I want to say we’ll stay together forever.”

Elissa’s voice was so small that I wouldn’t have recognized it had I not seen her lips move.

Alistair’s Maker’s apple bobbed and I watched him completely lose his train of thought. “Oh.”

“That’s what I want.” Elissa’s fierce nature built up and exploded anxiously. “I want to be with you. Where ever - you might end up drunk in the Free Marches, but not alone. I… I want to be right there with you, even if that means we‘re both inebriated and sleeping in the gutter.” She lifted her eyes to his.

“I think there’s a word for that,” Alistair drawled, his self-depreciation kicking in, “Co-dependence?”

“Hmmm, maybe,” Elissa admitted, looking down. “I’ve never even been drunk. Father was very strict about such things. Fergus always claimed it was because he was wild in his youth. And why am I talking about Father? Shut up, Elissa.”

“You can talk about anything you like. I’m listening. I‘d like to know more about your family.”

Elissa’s eyes flashed back up to his in surprise. “…That shouldn’t surprise me.“ She was quiet for a moment, “Maybe some other time. I wanted honesty, and got it. I’m assuming you want the same thing, so I‘m giving it to you.”

“I could take a little white lie here and there,” Alistair tried to joke, but then shook his head. “No. Everything is too precarious. The cruel truth is… painful, but…”

“Better,” Elissa whispered. Alistair nodded in agreement. They were quiet, and Alistair purposefully twisted his fingers into hers.

“So… we stay together.”

I hadn’t expected that.

“What?” Neither had Elissa. I smiled in satisfaction.

“I’m taking what I want. We end the Blight, you slay the archdemon, milady dragon, and then we stay together, ending the Civil War somewhere along the way. If Loghain wins, we take our exile wherever the Wardens send us. But we… stay together as much as possible.” Alistair wasn’t looking at her. “If… that’s what you really want, anyway. It‘s a bit hard to believe. But where you are is where my home is.”

“I want you to join me in my tent.” Elissa looked mildly horrified at the admission, eyes wide and face flushing pink. I nearly squealed with delight. “Every night. Not just once in a while.”

Alistair laughed, rather breathily, “Won’t Wulfy be jealous? I‘ll take up all the room. I‘m not precisely petite.”

“He can have your tent, if he doesn’t like it,” Elissa flushed deeper. “I don’t want to waste a single night. You know me - idle time is wasted time.” Her eyes flashed up through her eyelashes. “I don’t want my nights to be idle. They would be, missing you. They’ve been empty, every night since…”

“What can I say?” Alistair pulled her over towards him with all his strength and she laughed at last as she fell on top of him, tipping him onto his back. “Your wish is my command.”

“Is it now?” Elissa purred, inches away from his mouth, and I backed away, quickly. “All of them? I have more than one, you know.“

“What do you think?“ Alistair murmured and clutched her head to pull her down to his mouth. “Just give me a chance.”

It was too intimate to witness. I tore my eyes away and sped back towards the camp, breathing heavily.

Zevran was sprawled out by the fire, posed to tempt Wynne, I suspected, all golden skin and hair and artfully placed tattoos, and I eyed him cautiously. He had offered before…

I shook myself. I was insane even to consider it. Zevran? No. Possibly if he was the last person on Thedas, and the future of all life depended on our procreation, and we had a mage to heal him of any possible diseases that might be lingering from his past encounters - but then he wouldn’t be the last person on Thedas… though possibly the last male.

My thoughts were circular. This was not helpful.

“No worries, my dear companion,” Zevran laughed, watching me watch him. “I will not bite, unless you ask me to.”

“No,” I replied, and adjourned to my tent alone.

I wouldn’t damage our friendship by using him. Even if he was willing.

My pillow was icy with the damp from my eyes when I woke the next morning, and I felt I hadn’t slept all.

How was it possible to be happy for someone, and still suffer from a broken heart?

 


	11. Dividing the Ranks

We weren’t that far from Orzamaar, I was told over a map that morning at breakfast, my eyes haggard and the black tea being wholly inadequate. I have never longed so much for coffee as I did during the Blight - strong Orlesian coffee thick enough to stand a spoon up in and sweet enough to kill children.

But according to the map, Orzamaar’s entrance was just north and west, at the entrance to the Frostbacks. “We could go to Haven, first,” Alistair suggested. “Arl Eamon…”

“I’m sorry, Alistair, but the Blight is more important than even Arl Eamon,” Elissa spoke gently, however, and he raised her fist to kiss it in understanding. She pinked, and smiled slightly. “After we enlist the dwarves’ assistance, we’ll go to Haven, and see about Genitivi. If the map I found on that dead cultist was correct, Haven is just a little detour from there, in any case.”

“I’m yours to command, milady dragon,” he assured her. “Orzamaar it is.”

Zevran cackled and Morrigan humphed irritably. “Someone has to order him around,” she muttered.

I frowned at her. She needed watching. I resolved to get her alone later and ask her a few questions. But for now… “So, have any of you ever been to Orzamaar before?”

“For about one day,” Alistair admitted. “I’m not going to be a lot of help, here.”

Elissa glanced at Shale. “What? Why does it turn to me? I have no memories of my time beneath the surface,” the Golem insisted.

Elissa sighed, disappointed, “We’ll just have to do the best we can. Sten, I believe the man who bought your sword is supposed to have a shop near there in any case. Perhaps we can talk to him on the way?” Sten merely grunted. But none of us expected any less of him. “Then let’s pack up and be on our way. I think we can make it in three days, if we don’t run into trouble.” Alistair helped her up and pulled her away to ‘break down their tent‘, and her laugh rang out like chimes over the camp.

It was a slow start, that day, since they inevitably became distracted. I tried very hard not to blame them. It was only my lack of sleep causing my bitter mood.

As far as trouble is concerned, we always ran into it. Trouble in this case was a ruined Lothering, overrun by darkspawn and blackened with fire. A small child’s toy rested at my feet - a wooden pony, one of the legs half burnt away. I bent and picked it up, the ashy wind whisking around us.

“Darkspawn,” Elissa swallowed hard. “Darkspawn did this.”

“Yes,” her prince stood at her back. I drifted sideways, towards the soot-stained stone bridge, that had led to the Chantry where I had spent so many days.

“All of them, gone.” She turned away, her face hard. “The darkspawn will all die, I swear it. Just as these people did.” I picked up a small pendant on the bank of the river, recognizing the Chantry sunburst as one my Revered Mother had worn, and my heart clenched.

I slipped it around my neck as Alistair inclined his head and turned to follow her. There was nothing more to say. We turned to the west and the hills of the Frostbacks outlined against the late afternoon sun.

The mood was dark, after that, right up until we camped - a good ways outside of Lothering, as none of us wished to linger in that haunted place where so many things had started - and ended. All the same, I found my moment to draw Morrigan aside that night, determined to discover what was bothering her. “Morrigan, were you always… alone in the Wilds?”

I admit that I thought perhaps she was lonely. Can you blame me? She was the definition of ‘aloof’ from everyone but Elissa.

“Mother occasionally had… company.”

“I see,” I was hardly shocked. The legends of Flemeth were not ones for children, after all. I was hardly surprised that these particular ones were true.

“Do you?” Morrigan turned on me, her hands covered with frost. I stepped back, resisting the urge to pull my dagger. “Do you know what it is like for a child to witness that? Knowing that when you grow older you will be expected to do the same? To lure men in for the power they will give you? To watch her do it, again and again, watching them become little more than husks? As you grow older, to be used as bait for Templars and witch hunters? To have your mother turn it into a game?! To never realize that was unusual, until you went out in the world and saw how others lived?”

“Morrigan, I didn‘t realize…” Marjolaine had played her own games with me, but nothing… nothing like that. At that moment, I was inordinately pleased that we had killed Flemeth.

“You see nothing,” her face, so unusually intense, shut down. “Leave me be.”

She marched away from her fire in the direction of the woods, and I worried. Should I tell Elissa what she had said? That little confession - so out of character for Morrigan - was the sort of magic that the Chantry reviled the most. But she was a - a friend, of sorts, an ally certainly.

Perhaps I should have said something. It might have made things turn out differently, if I had. But not necessarily for the better, either. The choices I made are still making ripples, more than a decade later.

As I age, I am more certain that everyone feels the same way.

We reached Orzamaar easily enough, only to discover that Sten’s Asala - his soul, as he defined the word - was all the way back at Redcliffe. Elissa weighed our options silently before we approached the gates, where apparently Loghain’s representative had been arguing for entry for weeks. We didn’t want to start an altercation if we didn’t have to. Or at least not until we were ready.

“I have a solution,” Alistair cleared his throat.

She lifted her eyes to him, surprised. “Really?”

“No need to sound so startled,” he laughed. “But yes, my love. Send me, Sten, Zevran, and…” his eyes scanned us soberly, “Morrigan - if she’ll go - to Redcliffe. You‘re more likely to need a healer in the Deep Roads then a shapeshifter, I think.”

“Split up?” Elissa blinked at him. “You want to split up?” Her voice was unusually shrill.

“It makes sense,” he insisted. “This way, Sten gets his sword back. It’s important to him. Anyone can see that.”

Sten narrowed his eyes at Alistair. “Your companion makes sense. It is agreeable to discover he is not always such a fool.”

“Thanks, I suppose,” Alistair sighed.

Elissa had gone pale, “You have to stay with me,” she whispered, grabbing at his arm. “I can’t represent the Grey Wardens down here on my own! I have no idea who I’ll have to talk to, or where to go… you’ve been down there with Duncan, haven’t you?”

“Once? For a day… it’s not like I’m an expert at Dwarven culture, Elissa!”

“I will go with the other Warden,” Shale stated, her normally bored voice tinged with exasperation. “There are no pigeons underground. Perhaps there will be some to squash in this… Redcliffe.”

“But there will be deepstalkers, and plenty of darkspawn,” Morrigan clarified. “You’ll hardly be without an occupation, Shale.”

“I’ll be back in a few days,” Alistair seemed a little embarrassed by Elissa still holding onto him, her knuckles white. “It’s two days, maybe, to Redcliffe - we’ll just get the sword from Dwyn and come right back… no need to cling to me as if you‘ll never see me again.”

Elissa blushed angrily. “I… I’m being clingy, am I?” She released him, “I’m… sorry, Alistair.”

I grabbed Morrigan, who protested audibly, and dragged her out of hearing range - unfortunately they were being rather loud. “Let them have their discussion,” I hissed at her. “Can’t you act like you aren’t listening?”

“No, No!” Alistair protested. “I don’t mind! I just wanted to save us some time…”

“It’s all right,” Elissa rushed to counter, “you… you should go! It’s a good idea. Shale should come with me - maybe she’ll intimidate somebody down there. Golems are… sort of respected, aren‘t they?” Wynne joined us a moment later with Zevran, shooing Sten before us. Shale stood, implacable and disinterested in what happened to her, as long as there was a chance of squishing things and making them fountain blood.

“Are you sure?” I rolled my eyes at Alistair‘s essential cluelessness, “You’re in charge, Warden Commander. I don’t want…”

“It’s a good idea,” she repeated. “I’ll just miss…” she cleared her throat. “Nevermind. I’ll see you in a few days.”

“A couple of days. That’s it,” Alistair seemed less sure of himself now that she had agreed. “I’ll… find you, shall I?”

“I suppose,” Elissa was cool and confident outwardly now, but her eyes looked red and watery. Did the fool really think that Alistair wanted to leave her? With Morrigan, of all people? “If there’s a tavern, look there. We’ll have to sleep somewhere, and if there‘s no King, like the rumors indicate, I doubt they‘ll make room for a Warden at the palace.”

Wynne chuckled, “Oh my, our Warden seems to have trouble letting go!”

“Shhh,” I warned her. “Maybe they’ll…”

Alistair bent down and kissed her cheek, looking forlorn at her coldness. “Is something wrong, my dear?”

“Nothing,” she bit off firmly. “I’ll be in Orzamaar. It can’t be that big, right? See you in a few days.” She walked away, leaving him pouting. “You’re with Alistair,” she told Morrigan, Zevran and Sten. “Shale, you’re with me, and Wynne and…” her voice broke. “Maker’s Breath, let’s just go, already,” she grumped, her eyes upset, she turned away. “No, wait,” she stopped, “Wynne, you go with Alistair instead. You… work better with him. No use making this side trip miserable for everyone involved.”

“Most agreeable,” Morrigan sighed with satisfaction.

“Yes, we have plenty of poultices and injury kits,” she said, as if convincing herself of the truth of her statement. “We’ll be fine without… Alistair might need Wynne more, if something happens.” She watched the smaller group peel away, to traipse over the bridge that led down the mountain.

“You’re jealous,” I hissed to her, teasingly, as she finally turned back to our own destination.

“I am not.”

“Do you honestly think that Alistair would… he despises her!”

“I can hear you talking about me,” Morrigan called back. “If we must be juvenile, can we at least do it so everyone can hear? I’m sure Shale would like to be included in the conversation, yes?”

“I’m just trying to keep everyone happy!” Elissa protested.

“Then you should have kept Zevran with you,” I laughed at her. “You know he’s going to poke and prod at Alistair for all the details of your relationship? And then offer advice…”

“Alistair gets along better with Wynne,” she repeated. “That’s my only consideration.”

“It has nothing to do about how good Morrigan looks in her robes?”

My friend shoved me, and then laughed, “All right, maybe a little. I mean, have you seen Morrigan? She‘s gorgeous. I hardly want my young man,” she turned vivid red at the words, and I marveled at her continued innocence, “tempted by her wiles.”

Morrigan blinked at her in surprise and gave her a rare half-smile. “You have my thanks. I hardly wish to tempt him. Wiles or no.”

Elissa stared at her for a moment, “Morrigan, I only wish I could look like you. My parents would have been inordinately pleased. So would every man in Highever, common and noble. In fact, when this is over, I would love to introduce you to my brother, and watch him fall over himself to impress you. Assuming he‘s alive.” Her voice didn’t sound as worried as it had, even though we had yet to hear any news of him.

“Luckily, Alistair isn’t from Highever,” I observed dryly.

Only I witnessed the hopeful smile that crossed her face. She deserved to have a little confidence in his affections.

“Thank all the old gods for that,” Morrigan concluded, blithe and carefree. “Now, what is all this noise? Are the representatives of that fool who calls himself Regent everywhere?!”

In a few moments we were all fighting again, much to Shale’s pleasure, and the moment of bonding was lost.

 


	12. Proven

Three days later, Elissa was fidgeting, “Alistair should be here by now.” Tapsters was jam-packed in the aftermath of the successful Proving. Everyone wanted to buy us a drink - but some of them were poisoned. We were being picky, without Zevran here to test for the rarer poisons. “You don’t think something has happened?”

“Spare me,” Morrigan drank her mead. “Even if the man-child was hurt, he had Wynne, and Sten with him. He’s more at risk of being accosted by Zevran than…”

The door to the tavern opened, and a - very tall, in comparison with the rest of our company - man entered, with an even taller man, both of them fussing at the grandmotherly looking woman. “You collapsed, Wynne. I can’t just ignore that that happened. I have to tell her…”

“The other Warden speaks correctly. You need medical attention.”

“She already knows that I‘m not - well,” Wynne sighed. “You’re speaking so loud that everyone knows, Alistair. Pitch your voice more appropriately, will you?”

Zevran pitched in, “I agree, if you had only seen my point of view you would realize that Wynne is in wonderful shape. She merely needs rest, and perhaps a sensual massage.”

Wynne’s amused laugh carried, “Oh, really? And you are willing to provide it?”

“But of course.”

Elissa was slowly rising to her feet. She was taller than the surrounding dwarves - but we were surrounded. I wasn’t sure he’d be able to see her at all, if she didn’t call out. “Alistair?” She looked worried, but I knew it wasn’t about Wynne. I stared into my own wine, and tried to find my better self.

I didn’t like the side of myself that envy brought out.

“Elissa,” he beamed, and dodged serving dwarves haphazardly. “Elissa, I heard some people talking - did you just win the Provings? How? When? I didn’t think they let…”

“Watch it, topsider,” a grumpy dwarf warned him as he bumped into him.

“Forgive me,” Alistair’s eyes swung back up to hers. “I’m sorry we’re late. Wynne collapsed after a minor battle.”

“Minor?” the woman in question groused, “That was the second Emissary that I had taken out, I’ll have you know.”

“A minor battle,” Alistair continued with a warning look at her. I squelched an urge to giggle bitterly. He was trying not to worry Elissa. “Just a skirmish, really…”

“Are you all right?” Elissa was asking him, scanning him head to toe, and ignoring Wynne entirely.

“They had the healer!” Morrigan protested. “Of course he’s fine!”

“I’m wonderful,” Alistair assured her, finally reaching her side. “Are… you…”

“I’m fantastic,” Elissa flushed. “I’m the hero of the hour, at the moment - as well as the villain depending on who you ask. I took the Provings. We’re fighting for Harrowmont, I’m afraid… I didn’t have all the details, and they wouldn’t wait for you to arrive… I was pushed to make a decision, and the whole Aeducan family apparently murdered each other in the most brutal way. I thought it was time for a change.”

Alistair looked confused, “What?”

“Orzamaar is currently without a King. They can’t assist against the Blight without us jumping through an absurd amount of hoops,” Morrigan summed up. “We’ve been enlisted to change the course of Dwarven history. What joy. At least they don‘t have trees to fetch kittens from. Only nugs. Lots and lots of nugs. Which we have been fetching, for a lack of anything better to do.”

“Sit down and have a drink,” I urged Wynne with some concern. “The nugs are adorable. Like underground pig-bunnies. They make the cutest noises…”

“Do they have dwarven ale? I’ve always wanted to try…”

Alistair had bent down and kissed Elissa’s cheek - and she looked oddly displeased before her face cleared. “Wait,” she ordered all of us. “That Oghren dwarf is supposed to hang out here. So delay him until I make it back. I… we might be a while.” She dragged her young man back out through the front doors of the tavern impatiently, and I sniggered into my mug, finding my sense of humor again.

It was a relief, I admit, to laugh without feeling jealous of Alistair.

“They do have dwarven ale, Wynne,” I assured her. “Come on. I imagine those two will be some time.”

I slipped away in the aftermath of the newly arrived drinks, letting Zevran test them for poison, and went to see what was going on.

A vaguely drunk Elissa had Alistair pressed up against the wall of Tapsters, just out of sight, in an area we had found one of the nugs in question earlier. So cute. Both the nugs and the two of them, actually. She was kissing him like she hadn’t seen him in years, not just three days.

“Elissa,” groaned Alistair, hoisting her body up to wrap her legs around him and turning to press her against the wall. “So… you did miss me?”

“No,” she lied. “I didn’t.” She pulled away slightly to tell the truth, “I felt… I felt like half of me was missing instead, Cheesy. I couldn’t sleep without you. The nightmares were worse… Wulfy was pouting because he was a poor substitute. Don’t do that again?”

“Not unless we have to,” Alistair ran his mouth under her chin and nipped at her earlobe. “I missed you too. Zevran offered to cuddle, and I declined. Somehow I didn’t think it would be the same… And I like being the little spoon. Something tells me Zevran feels similarly… I don‘t think it would work.”

I snorted. I had had a lot to drink, and my usual skills were blunted. Luckily, in the ambient noise from the tavern, it was ignored. “Maker, Cheesy,” she laughed into his mouth, a breath away. “I love you.”

Alistair smiled softly, “I love you, too.” He wrapped his arms more securely around her back. “Where are we staying?”

She made a face, “Upstairs. It’s complicated. All the beds are too small so we’re sleeping on the floor…”

Alistair’s breath caught, “There are beds? Do we have a room to ourselves?”

Elissa bent towards him, so that her forehead rested against his again, and her mouth could catch his with impatience, her hair falling into her eyes, “Yes. Morrigan is with Leliana, and we’ll pair Zev with Sten. Shale and Wynne can bunk together… assuming Shale cares about having a room at all. If not, Wynne will have a room to herself,” she ran a light finger to the curve of his ear. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“If it’s that it doesn’t matter how small the bed is, then yes,” Alistair panted, and kissed her hard. “My love, oh, my love… I missed you.”

“There’s a back stair,” she shuddered in his arms, and I backed away, to make my way inside. “Come on, Cheesy. Let‘s go upstairs.”

I hoped this Oghren was very, very late. They would need the time.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be another chapter in the Royal Vault shortly. This one features Zevran's point of view. I'm hoping to have it up by Monday, no later. You'll want to read the tags, and I'll put up a warning on the chapter as well.


	13. Paragons of Good Behavior

We drank away most of the night waiting for the dwarf named Oghren to arrive, in the dusty, sweat-smelling packed interior of Tapsters, while Elissa and her love reunited upstairs. Wynne became very drunk indeed on dwarven ale, resulting in her arm-wrestling Sten and winning, much to everyone‘s surprise. The warrior snorted in disgust and retired afterward, claiming she must have used magic. Wynne didn’t deny it, but she finally drifted upstairs after a celebratory pint, weaving only a little sideways. Zevran followed not far behind, his inebriated eyes blurred with devious purpose.

The two of them did not emerge until very late the next morning, Zevran staggering out with awe in his eyes, kissing her hand with respect, and Wynne looking far more disheveled than I had ever seen her, still fastening the collar of her robes as she descended, but appearing very smug indeed as she smoothed back her hair into her practical bun.

Zevran seemed inclined to marvel and gush, but Wynne whispered something into his ear, and he… the assassin actually flushed, closed his mouth, and nodded obediently.

Apparently, the assassin was to leave it to my imagination. It is better not to know, perhaps.

We stumbled our way to the edge of the Deep Roads, most of us either hung over or still half-drunk from a night of debauchery, and two of us drawing aside into every half-hidden alcove to kiss. It was the expected couple at least - I‘m not sure Elissa had even noticed Zevran‘s preoccupation given Alistair‘s presence.

It was cute. Adorable, even. After a few feeble attempts at protesting the ongoing public displays of affection, Alistair gave up and let her pull him aside, smiling with his eyes crinkled up while Wynne pulled out her knitting yet again, Shale started to sort through her rock collection idly, and Sten decided to sharpen his sword.

Naturally, that was when the dwarf found us. “Ancestors, that’s disgusting,” he watched the pair twist around each other not quite out of sight behind a large rock. “Can’t you… do something?” He shuddered. “Legs shouldn’t be that long. It‘s obscene.”

Elissa’s legs were up and around her lover’s waist. I couldn’t help but appreciate Alistair’s strength, and her legs as well. Hardly obscene. A bit… graphic, maybe. I had a hard time looking away.

“I could,” Wynne mused, glancing up over her yarn. “If I wanted to.”

“It looks damp,” Shale sighed, as only a monolith can sigh. Her sighs grated every rock in her body together. It’s surprising how expressive a Golem can be when they are trying to convince everyone they are bored and disgusted.

We all watched for a little while longer, in embarrassed silence and reluctant fascination, until the man asked, “Should I just come back later? They look… busy.”

“Depends what you need,” I offered hesitantly - fairly certain that this was the dwarf we had waited for almost all night, but as he hadn‘t introduced himself, I was still cautious. “We’re heading into the Deep Roads today. I hope.” Watching Alistair and Elissa, it was hard to tell if we‘d be reaching that simple goal. She had managed to spin him around and pin him up against a rock - using the leverage to scale him better, moaning at the same time. A gymnastic feat to be admired.

“Looks like they ought to head back to Tapsters and get a room instead,” grunted Oghren.

“The dwarf is not wrong,” Sten agreed. “This is inappropriate and ill-advised.”

“The Assembly is forcing a vote,” Wynne argued. “We don’t have time for them to become reacquainted while we waste another day.” I looked away pointedly when Alistair squealed like a baby nug at something Elissa had done. “We have to find a Paragon…”

“Can we go without ‘em?” the dwarf asked sensibly.

“They’re the Wardens,” I sighed, for the first time wishing one of them had slightly more real-world experience.

“They’re just a couple of kids!”

“You are a master of the obvious,” Sten deadpanned. I couldn’t tell if he was actually trying to make a joke or not. Possibly he was even jealous. He was so hard to read.

“Well, I need them to find my wife,” grunted the rather pungent dwarf. “So does one of you have a crowbar or something we could use to pry ’em apart? I’d like to get a move on.”

“Oh, you poor man,” I cooed with sympathy, trying to ignore the smell wafting from him, now growing stronger by the minute. “How long has your wife been missing?”

“Two years.”

My sympathy evaporated. “Two… years?”

“Who is your wife?” Morrigan’s voice pierced my surprise. “And where did you misplace her?”

“The Paragon Branka,” the dwarf burped ostentatiously. “The only living Paragon. You did say you were looking for a Paragon, right?” He grinned wide. “I guess we need each other. Or was it not your group laying in wait for me at Tapsters last night? Sorry, I had a bit much at the Provings when I realized the Ancestors didn’t favor Bhelen, and never made it to the tavern at all. Slept in the Hall of Heroes between Branka’s legs. You didn‘t wait up for me, did ya?”

I exchanged a glance with Wynne. The husband of the only living paragon was a drunken vagrant? But at least it really was Oghren… “I suppose I could drop a few quiet hints,” the Enchanter rubbed her forehead with her fingertips and stowed her knitting back into her knapsack. “I’ll be right back.”

The Wardens returned at last from their interlude, both red with embarrassment and rather frazzled as Wynne marched behind them, prodding them gently with her staff. “I’ve flushed a few apprentices and Templar recruits out from secluded corners,” she admitted with an evil smile. “I find a quick shock to the extremities quite effective, but as they were both wearing plate - I‘m afraid it grounded a little too well. Arced between them.” She pursed her lips thoughtfully. “I could use that in battle. Remind me to make a note of it, Zevran?”

Alistair’s hair - usually so perfectly arranged - was standing straight on end, and Elissa’s normally smooth braid was frizzy around the edges. Both looked a little pale.

“By the First Crow, you are a cruel woman,” Zevran breathed heavily with infatuation.

Wynne winked. She _winked_ and my head spun. Andraste’s Mercy, I really didn’t want to know.

“So… you’re all nuts, then.” Oghren grunted. “Good. It’ll take crazy to find Branka. She‘s nuttier than any of you.” He burped again and I nearly gagged at the odor, my amusement evaporated. “Let’s get a move on.”

None of us bothered to defend our sanity. I had left sanity far behind in Lothering. And I’m not sure that Alistair and Elissa had any breath left to protest, after being zapped.

It took days for us to locate Paragon Branka, and when we did… well, I’d really rather not dwell on the horrors that are broodmothers. I still have nightmares about them. I think we all do.

But given their existence, I no longer questioned that Grey Wardens had so few women in their ranks - if they didn’t die answering their Calling, that was likely what awaited them. Elissa‘s viciousness as she cut the thing down exceeded even her usual bloodthirsty efficiency.

I suspect she decided then, that would never be her fate. Truly, there were fates that were worse than death. But the broodmother’s gruesome appearance did have one benefit - neither Alistair or Elissa delayed us any longer, their romantic reunion thoroughly ruined by too many breasts (I would never have thought that possible before) and tentacles where there should be none. We made it back to the Assembly in good time to thoroughly derail dwarven politics for the foreseeable future.

Not bad, for a week’s work.

I only wish Oghren’s work had included a thorough bath. His odor did not improve with time.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prepare yourselves - this story is done, and I'm going to be posting the rest of it in the next few days/next week. I'm a bit in shock - I'm going to be finishing up Asta's After in the next couple of weeks as well.
> 
> Luckily I'm about sixty pages into a different fic, featuring a different world state. I'm hoping to post that around the beginning of the New Year.
> 
> However... I would like to ask opinions about whether anyone would like to read a version of Awakenings from Alistair's POV. It would be epistolary, so we'd hear a bit about Elissa, but would deal more with his struggles in Denerim and with Eamon and other issues.


	14. Reborn from Ashes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm so tempted to just spam you all with the end to this fic. You have no idea. I'm really happy with the way it turned out.
> 
> I will attempt to show some self-control, but don't be surprised if I fail.

We left Orzamaar once the new King was safely confirmed on his throne, but with Oghren at our side, much to our combined surprise and chagrin. We turned ourselves south, heading into the narrow track on our map that was supposed to lead us to the place marked ‘Haven‘. The town was hidden in a valley of the Frostbacks at the end of a track that no one would have looked at twice. I nearly missed the turn off entirely, even while searching for it.

A creepy child greeted us after we eluded the guard at the entrance to the town, singing a horrid song I didn’t recognize about bones - like a skipping rhyme for the dying. “How could the prophetess’ ashes be here?” I asked Wynne under my breath. “This isn’t a temple - it’s not even a tomb. It smells - and feels - like an abattoir.” The scent of blood was wafting out from nearly every single village home, and the chill was bone-deep, this high in the mountains. I gathered my cloak closer around me, in an attempt to seem merely cold, and not judgmental.

“The villagers could be remnants of the Imperial Chantry. That might explain the guard’s reference to a Revered Father,” the woman whispered, sotto voice. “I wouldn’t have believed it possible, it’s been so long, but they are rather isolated…“

When we discovered the household shrines drenched with blood that theory seemed rather unlikely. The Maker’s will might be written in our blood, but I’m quite sure that was supposed to be a metaphor, not taken literally.

Haven seemed nothing but a small dingy, unwelcoming village that time had passed by entirely, filled with brutal people who were capable of hurting a very nice Chantry Brother and doing blood sacrifices in their homes. If I had my way, I would have left after killing every single one of the dragon cultists. But Elissa - she spared who she could.

I never completely changed my mind, even with the wonder of the Temple laid before us. Not even when years later, I returned for a much different reason, only to see the village‘s one redeeming edifice destroyed.

But even those wonders were shadowed by the dragon. Only Elissa was elated at the opportunity to kill another one.

Our Lady Dragon scaled her, stabbing a single sword deep and flying around its neck to land astride. She drove her sword into the base of its skull, and it slumped, her riding it all the way, and Alistair - far less winded this time than after Flemeth (perhaps the nighttime workout sessions were improving his stamina?) - helped her down like a lady from a carriage only to pull her against him, blood spatter and all.

Wynne and I took one look and began to shoo the rest a good distance away before things got embarrassing.

It was a very wise decision. I can’t be sure that they actually made love up against the dragon named Andraste, but I wouldn’t want to bet against it, either. I doubt Elissa would have even thought twice - and the way Alistair’s eyes were shining, he wasn’t thinking about much of anything at all, I’d wager.

I take that back. If it wasn’t against the dragon, it was right there on the stony ground, on the final approach to the Temple of Sacred Ashes.

In their defense, I’m fairly certain, after all my experiences, that dragon’s blood is an aphrodisiac. If Zevran hadn’t still been staring at Wynne, who was drinking from Oghren’s jug and making small talk with the smelly dwarf, I might have even taken him up on his offer that night. As it was… well, perhaps it’s a good thing that Andraste is the forgiving sort.

And no, I did not sneak back to watch. I could hear them just fine. Everyone could. They never bothered trying to be quiet.

We made camp that night just inside the tunnels to the Temple, it being far too late to try to deal with whatever traps the Temple might try to confront us with. Aphrodisiac or no, killing dragons is exhausting.

Genitivi hadn’t known enough to inform us about what to expect, and so we had only the word of admitted cultists to take with a grain of salt. And they wanted us to poison the ashes! It was ridiculous.

Havard had been - creative, to say the least, when he designed the Temple for our Lady. It was hard not to treat it like a holy place when you were answering riddles about jealousy to the long dead husband of your prophetess and talking to Shartan about whether or not he was a disciple of Andraste.

He wasn’t, if you’re interested. They just had goals that aligned for a time. He reminds me of someone else I met, much later, but the idea is just too absurd to consider. How many roles can one person take, even if they are immortal?

That question is meant to be rhetorical. I think about that too much these days. His true identity is my single greatest failure. I never even suspected. Who would?

We entered the inner doors, and around a central pillar, thicker than any tree, to reveal a single man standing at attention.

“Pup,” the man smiled, and held out his arms, as if expecting an embrace. I didn’t have to hold my friend back. She was frozen in place.

“Da?” She whispered. “You’re dead,” I had never seen our Dragon so shaken. She repeated it, as if trying to convince herself. “You’re dead. Mother and you, and Oren and… you’re all dead. I left you to die.” She stretched out a hand to support herself on the pillar. “Da…”

“I’m so proud of you,” He stepped forward. “You didn‘t leave us behind, Pup. We only ever wanted you to live.” The spirit’s - if that’s what he truly was - eyes drifted towards Alistair. “You’re on your way to doing just that.”

“I should have stayed,” Elissa ripped herself out of her paralysis and lunged at him. “I should have stayed and protected you. Let Duncan find a different Warden to recruit. I was selfish and it was wrong.”

“No,” his voice was a release and benediction. “You couldn’t stay. Just as I can’t stay now. But Pup, I would like to speak to your friends, if I might.” He let go and nodded at her. He pulled Alistair away, and if Alistair looked stern and solemn after he finished, I couldn’t be surprised, given what he discussed with me.

The Guardian confronted me about my vision, of all things. I defended my faith, but as always, my doubt lingered, right below the surface, complicated and murky, and as dark as any shadow.

I do not know what he said to anyone else - but I have no wish to know. His words were a private challenge, meant to delve into our motivations. Only Elissa’s challenge had been public, to make her face the consequences of leaving her parents behind, and she was still weeping as we moved through the rest of the Temple, after the spirit with her father‘s face dissolved back into the Fade, released from whatever spell that kept him there - a second goodbye that twisted the knife of loss a little further into her heart.

The Maker can be cruel. I don’t know how Andraste kept her faith; my own twists and bends all too easily. That day, I ached for my friend in silence, my turmoil not forgotten but pushed aside in favor of empathy.

But perhaps it was her own crisis about her motivations that prompted Elissa’s hesitation after she passed through the fire with the rest of us and was confronted with the Urn itself. She had always been focused on the goal at hand - ending the Blight, and other than her drive to defeat Howe and Loghain for their part in her parents’ deaths, she had never sought revenge on anyone.

It took me a while to realize what was happening. I had knelt in Our Lady’s presence, saying a portion of the Chant in Her honor. It seemed appropriate, and this was - despite our lack of attire - a holy place.

“Um, Elissa?” Alistair fidgeted. “What are you waiting for? I‘m a bit chilly, despite the fire, and I‘m pretty sure Zevran is eying my dangly bits.”

Zevran chuckled, but didn’t deny it.

I opened my eyes slowly in a certain amount of confusion to see Elissa‘s hand full of a vial of poison. The poison that the cultist had given her. “You aren’t going to actually poison them, are you?” My own anger overwhelmed me. “You can’t be considering it! We‘ve come too far!”

Elissa’s eyes were wide. “What if the Chantry is wrong? What if… what if that dragon was actually Andraste… what if she isn’t at the Maker’s side? We don‘t even know if the ashes will work!”

My outraged retort was interrupted by Wynne, of all people, “This world is wondrous and strange, my friend,” she spoke slowly, carefully. “But even if the dragon was Andraste, and we have killed her a second time, then she still allowed us into her presence. Death might have been a release for her - a Sword of Mercy not unlike Hessarian‘s. Perhaps she was trapped here, against her will - her spirit summoned into a beast.”

I saw my dear friend’s hands shaking as she dropped the poison on the floor, and hid her face in her hands. I rose, already regretting my harsh words, but Alistair was already at her side. “Shhh,” he soothed. “You haven’t done anything wrong.” He wrapped her in his arms, muscles binding her to him. “You won’t.”

“I might have killed Her, Alistair,” she wept. “I was thinking about killing Eamon. He’s never even hurt me. But he hurt you - I would see him punished for that.”

“I seek no revenge against Eamon. I hold no anger towards him,” he whispered against her hair.

“If it was Isolde that was sick, I would have done it,” Elissa argued, pushing against him. He just held her tighter.

“No you wouldn’t.”

She relaxed, “I wouldn’t? How can you be so sure?” Her voice broke. “I left my parents to die. I‘m capable of anything.”

“The Guerrins are not without guilt, but I won’t let you dirty your hands on their blood,” Alistair pulled back, and wiped her hair out of her eyes. “If Eamon hadn’t sent me to the Chantry, would I have ever met you? If your parents hadn‘t died, would I have met you?”

Elissa frowned, her face crumpling back into tears. “No, but…”

“But nothing,” Alistair interrupted. “I would gladly pay the price of an unhappy youth to count the blessings currently given to me. The Blight brought us together, and for that reason I am a lucky man.” He turned her back around, as I gaped at his eloquence openly, and nodded at the urn. “Now - the ashes?”

Elissa glanced up at the icon, paled a little, and I saw her mouth two words before she filled the pouch at her side with the dust of the holy woman‘s remains.

“I’m sorry.”

I didn’t confront her later. If it had been I, standing at the feet of Our Lady, the urn before me, would I have been tempted in turn? My hands bear their own stains, and hypocrisy ill-becomes everyone.

Andraste’s hands did as well, in her time. I can’t help but feel she understands, and forgives those of us who follow her.

I have to believe that.

 


	15. Return to Redcliffe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Screw it. I have no self-control.

Our trip back to Redcliffe was silent, Elissa too subdued to make her usual jokes, and slow to recover from her experiences. For once, it was Sten who was the loquacious one, asking questions about what a ‘waste bin’ filled with a dead woman could possibly have in the way of religious significance or medical value. His dismissive snorts were hardly helpful to those of us going through a crisis of faith, though Wynne took over when my temper threatened to overwhelm my patience.

Trying to explain Andrastianism to a follower of the Qun was a challenge far beyond me. Wynne wasn’t particularly devout, but she knew the tenets well enough.

Eamon was well enough within a few days, as Teagan and Elissa brought him up to speed.

Isolde naturally placed Elissa and Alistair in separate rooms, but they grew quite adept at sneaking away into the other’s space. Elissa, for her part, seemed to be relieved that they granted Alistair a room of his own instead of insisting that he sleep in the stables or in the now empty kennels. He sat in the place of honor at the table, as well.

The bitter side of me noted that it was only because our prince was their last hope of a Theirin King on the throne of Ferelden, but… I have no doubt that our Lady Dragon would have thrown a tantrum if he hadn’t been given what he deserved.

She drew me aside that night, pacing back and forth in the smallish Chantry shrine they had for family members, candles flickering as her body disturbed the air. “I… need your advice,” she stopped, and twisted her tunic into a knot at her hip, since all the threads were firmly attached for once.

“I know that look,” I teased, “Something is on your mind.” I knew exactly what she was struggling with, but I hoped my own levity would ease her.

“Alistair doesn’t want to be King. Eamon’s pushing him into it. And the Arl wants me to back him up,” she blurted out. “I… I…”

“You love Alistair,” I stated simply. “Don’t you?”

“I want him to be happy,” she frowned at me. “My feelings shouldn’t factor into whether or not he becomes King.”

“But of course they do,” I laughed at her. “Do you want to be with him? Do you fancy yourself a Kingmaker? Or the next Queen?”

“I’m a Warden,” she spat back, rather viciously. “I am not to interfere in political matters.”

“Well, you’ve already done that, several times over. I would say if you don’t meddle, you’ll make more of a problem than you have already.” I eased myself down on the step to the shrine, and cradled my chin in my hands. “What are your options?”

“Anora or Alistair,” she muttered, twisting her hem hard enough to rip it, and finally finding another stray thread to play with. I sighed in defeat. “Eamon won’t have enough backing, and I still don’t know if Fergus is even alive.” Her eyebrows dipped, her eyes worried. “It seems impossible that he could be.”

“Is Anora, in your opinion, a good ruler?”

She made a face. “I don‘t know. But her father is another matter entirely. Who knows how much hand Loghain had in the last five years of Cailan’s rule? But I can‘t approve of what he‘s done since Cailan‘s untimely death by father in law.”

“But surely Alistair doesn’t intend to let Loghain live? Surely he wants justice for the death of both Wardens and Cailan?”

“Of course he does,” she stressed, twisting the thread so that her finger went white with blood loss. “But if I have to interfere in Ferelden succession, then I want the best for Ferelden. Killing Loghain might not be that. He’s the Hero of the River Dane, Leliana. We owe our independence to him, whatever Alistair’s opinion of the matter is.”

“I see,” I did, unfortunately. That certainly complicated matters.

“He’ll never forgive me, if I let him live,” she slumped into the front row of pews and held her head. “Anora can survive, probably, because he thinks her innocent - he can‘t believe that she would kill her husband. I’m not so sure. She has a devious reputation, according to my mother. There was talk of making my father King, at the Landsmeet that confirmed Cailan. Anora was one reason, and she wasn‘t even his wife then, just his betrothed.”

“A devious nature might not be a bad thing, given the state of affairs between Ferelden and Orlais,” I pointed out gently. “What about Alistair?”

“He might not forgive me if I make him King,” she whispered into her hands. “Either way, I might lose him forever. And I shouldn‘t even be bloody concerned with that. There are more important considerations.” She pressed her palms against her eyes. “What am I going to do, Leliana?”

“You do what you think is right. Would Alistair be a good king? Think logically.”

“His education is lacking, he knows nothing of statecraft. Most of his history was learned at the Chantry, but he loves to learn,” Elissa’s speech slowed. “His heart is pure. He always acts with the best of intentions, and so rarely acts selfishly that it‘s a bit annoying. He cares for his country, but he found his place with the Wardens.” She glanced up at me, “If I make him King, I take that away from him forever. He can’t be a King and a Warden.”

“His experience with the Wardens will make him a stronger leader, I suspect.”

Elissa cracked a smile, “He hates to lead. You know that.”

“That doesn’t necessarily mean he’s bad at it.” She nodded in agreement. “I can’t decide for you, my friend.” I rose and laid a hand on her head. “I wish I could.”

“I never wanted any of this,” her head fell again. “When I wished for a different life back in Highever, wished that something would change, I never wanted this.”

“It’s not your fault,” my voice broke.

“No, but it’s my burden,” she stood up abruptly, and then, much to my surprise, hugged me. I wrapped my arms around her back slowly. “Thank you for sharing it with me.”

“It’s my pleasure,” I gave in, and stroked the back of her hair gently. “You’re not alone, Elissa. You’ll never be alone as long as I live.”

She released me - just as suddenly as she embraced me - and turned to leave. “All right. I know what I have to do.” She glanced back, but not at me - at the statue of Andraste at the front of the room. The Temple had changed her - she never would have done such a thing before we passed through the gauntlet.

“What are you going to do?”

“I have to go through the flames again,” She nodded at the statue, “to see what’s on the other side. Tell the others to be ready to go. We’re heading back to Denerim.” She took a deep breath, “We’re going to call the Landsmeet.”

 


	16. Pieced Together

Back in Denerim, several days later, we struggled to put the remaining pieces together before meeting with the assembled Landsmeet. “I can’t decide if she knew,” Elissa’s voice cracked. “Her own subjects? Sold into slavery? This whole situation depends on how much she knew.”

“They weren’t her people,” Alistair pointed out brutally, “No noble would think so. They’re ‘just elves’, as far as she’s concerned.”

Elissa narrowed her eyes at him, “I thought you thought she was innocent.”

“Now, I’m not so sure,” he confessed. “I mean, Loghain was funding an overthrow of his son-in-law by selling impoverished elves into slavery, using the smokescreen of a spell disguised as a plague to hide what he was doing. She might not have noticed him plotting murder under her very nose, because she has a blind spot about a mile wide when it comes to her father, but… didn‘t you always get the impression she was smarter than that? I never thought Cailan had the brains in Denerim. I mean - he‘s my brother. No one would think that of me.”

Elissa closed her eyes, looking older than her real years. “Maker’s Breath, Alistair, do you think she knew about Howe?”

He grabbed her hands. “I don’t know. But it doesn’t matter. Loghain knew. Howe was the Arl of Denerim. He would have been at the palace regularly. Remember that. It’s a matter of whether we can trust the daughter Loghain raised to rule this country.” Elissa creased her lips. “My love…” he cleared his throat. “Elissa, I’ve long since braced myself that I could end up King. If you think it’s necessary, anyway,” his eyes were pained.

Elissa pinned him with a single look. “There is another option, you know.”

“What? Who?” Alistair brightened. “It’s Eamon, isn’t it? Say it’s Eamon.”

“We let Loghain win. Let him retain the regency. It‘s another option, however distasteful. If we make a bargain with him, to let the Wardens do our work so he - or his daughter - can rule uninterrupted…”

“To the Void with that,” Alistair dropped her hands and shoved back from the table. “How can you even consider… after everything he’s done? To the Wardens, to the elves, to his own son-in-law, to Ferelden itself? His ambition has nearly lost this country to the Blight.”

Elissa’s eyes sparked, “Has it now?” Her mouth twisted. “Alistair, what do you think about the situation in the alienage?”

“The whole thing needs a makeover,” he deadpanned. “ From that damn portcullis being removed to healthier living conditions. And for the Maker’s sake, give them all weapons, so that the next time somebody tries to rape them, they can kill the bastards before it happens. Make one of them the Arl of Denerim, in Howe’s place, if you think it will help.”

Elissa glanced at me, her mouth twitching. “And what do you think we should do about peace talks with Orlais?”

Alistair groaned, “It’ll have to wait, won’t it? Hard to make peace talks with someone that won’t even cross the border to help us kill darkspawn. I don’t trust Celene further than I can throw her - she’s supposed to be very tall, isn’t she? - but eventually, yes, we ought to bury the hatchet. If she apologizes for the crime of being Orlesian and hands over a few cheese recipes anyway. Perhaps we could offer a Mabari or two in exchange, if we‘re being friendly. Share and share alike the best parts of our countries.”

I couldn’t resist coughing politely. “Of course,” Elissa sounded like she was in pain. “The Blight must take precedence.”

“Everything in its time,” Alistair agreed. “Kill the archdemon first, then we worry about demons in Orlesian form. They‘re safely in their own country for the moment anyway.”

“So… you don’t necessarily see Orlais as a threat to Fereldan independence,” my friend prompted, her shoulders shaking with repressed laughter.

“Not the way Loghain sees Orlesians skulking behind every corner, no,” Alistair’s eyes narrowed. “Wait… are you testing me?”

“You’d make a decent King,” Elissa admitted. “You’re realistic about how much we can accomplish and when, and you have your priorities straight.”

Alistair grinned, and then frowned. “As much as I appreciate the reluctant compliment, my love, I don’t like where this is headed.”

“Anora will change nothing about the alienage,” Elissa said bluntly. “It will remain a place where people disappear, and every time they get sick, the city will be sealed off. Abuses will continue. You‘re opposed to that.”

Alistair’s ears pinked slightly at the tips. “I… I was just offering my opinion, Elissa. I wouldn’t say it was realistic, precisely -”

“And then again,” she continued, “You’re open to peace with Orlais. Will Loghain’s daughter inherit his prejudice?”

“We’re all prejudiced against Orlesians,” Alistair protested. “The only difference is that I’m not paranoid. We fought them off once, we can do it again, if necessary. Assuming we don‘t all die during the Blight.”

Elissa nodded thoughtfully. “Cheesy, that says a great deal about how you’d rule.” She took a deep breath and pressed on, “I won’t do it unless you say you’re okay with it.”

Alistair closed his eyes and then opened them, a stern look in his eyes and his lips pressed into a thin line of determination. “I told you I was resigned.”

“Will you hate me forever?” Elissa asked, mask in place. “Will you ever forgive me?”

“I…” he glanced at me, and cleared his throat again, “I could never hate you, my love.”

“Would you forgive me if I recruited Loghain into the Wardens? With Riordan‘s help…”

Alistair snarled, “You won’t, will you?” His hands were fists.

Elissa looked down, and then shook her head. “The Joining isn’t good enough for him. He needs to die. For the elves, for Cailan, for all the people he’s betrayed. A death that suits a traitor.”

Alistair’s shoulders slumped, “Good. Let me do it. It’ll be honorable, if I challenge him. Better than a headman‘s axe. A suitable death for the Hero of River Dane.”

Elissa opened her mouth to protest, and then closed it, and then her eyes. “All right. I killed Howe, after all. That’s fair.” She opened her eyes, and they were sad and bitter. “Loghain is yours, my King.”

Alistair’s face paled, and his lips nearly white. “Don’t call me that.” His eyes pleaded with her. “I’m not your King. I‘m your Cheesy.”

“You’ll have to get used to hearing it eventually,” she covered her mouth with her hand and stood abruptly. “Forgive me. I… I need some air.” She rushed from the room.

I turned to Alistair, where he sat stricken with false guilt, staring at the door his love had left through, and sized him up. “There’s only one way to solve this,” I announced clearly, flourishing my story of a Prince and a Dragon with curls of deliberate calligraphy in ink as red as blood, and illuminating my mental manuscript with red roses in the margins, twined ‘round with golden crowns.

“And what’s that?” Alistair’s mouth was down-turned, and he looked angry and shaken. “Am I to go after her?”

“No,” I leaned in, “You have to ask her to marry you.” Alistair’s freckles went dark against already parchment-pale skin.

“I think - I think I heard you wrong,” he stammered, “did you say…”

“You have to ask her to be your Queen.” I arched a single eyebrow at him. “Don’t act like you haven’t thought about it.”

“But she’s… I’m not… when I thought she… I wasn‘t…” Alistair’s eyes rolled back into his head and he fell to the ground with a thud, shaking the bookshelves in the little library.

I can admit when I’m wrong. Apparently, Alistair hadn’t thought about it at all, despite his stated wish for them to stay together. A slight miscalculation on my part. He was fine, after a dose of smelling salts and a stiff brandy.

Really. It only took an hour or so to get sense out of him.

And then, I started telling him what he needed to do. I was raised Orlesian. We have finely developed romantic senses.

This… this would be epic.

 


	17. A Dragon Lands

Elissa had avoided both of us for a few days, working things through, I imagine, and trying to help herself let go of the man she loved, before she had to for the sake of the country.

I tried not to wish she would, and that she would find herself turning to a dear friend in her time of crisis. Alistair needed her as Queen. As Eamon started drilling him in affairs of state I realized just how far he had to go. But his time with the Wardens had expanded his horizons. He would be fine, after he cleared the steep learning curve. But he would do far better with a wife, who, however reluctantly, had been raised in one of the highest ranked households in the land.

Probably. The two of them were quite a pair. Ferelden would never look the same if we actually pulled this off.

The day of the Landsmeet dawned dark and cold with the promise of frost. Elissa, tired and drawn, emerged from her rooms, dressed in Wade’s best armor instead of her Warden gear, now polished to a fine shine, and looking impossibly regal with a cape behind her bearing the Cousland crest. It said everything - she was claiming her place at the Landsmeet, in her brother’s absence.

She was beautiful. And nervous. I could see her pulse jumping in her throat.

Never had the gulf between us seemed so wide. I wanted to take her hand, comfort her, hold her close - just once.

But it wasn’t my place. My place was behind her, not at her side. I watched her collect herself, blowing in and out before she turned to Alistair, nodding to him, and me, and then to Wynne - the only ones in our odd little group that could claim to be even remotely Fereldan. Myself by birth, and Wynne by virtue of her association with the Tower.

Alistair took his place at her right, and I drew myself to her left, and Wynne flanked us all, a loose diamond of solidarity. At the last moment, Elissa whistled and Ser Wulfred bounded to her side. “Stay with Alistair, no matter what,” she ordered him. The dog whined, but heeled obediently. She looked up in Alistair’s eyes and colored, looking away immediately. She took another couple of deep breaths before she started walking.

I had no idea what she was thinking. It worried me, more than a little.

We entered, chins up, into a room of a dozen arguments. Elissa stepped in immediately, and soon enough the most vocal of the debaters were organized and being heard.

Anora betrayed us - like father, like daughter - but Elissa had seen that coming, and in the end, it came down to Alistair and Loghain, and a challenge issued for single combat, just as she had planned.

Elissa stepped back, and gave Alistair the floor, her eyes cast down. I would have thought her demure if I didn’t know her so well. She merely didn’t want to watch him die. Loghain - they spoke of his skill even in Orlais.

The battle itself was brutal, Loghain playing all sorts of tricks that nearly took Alistair’s life a dozen times, but Alistair had youth on his side, and vengeance. Old age and trickery rarely win out over such things, especially since that wonderful boy refused to give into his anger, no matter what the older warrior screamed at him about his parentage.

In the end, it was Loghain who died, after finally admitting Maric’s blood ran through our Prince’s veins, and Alistair didn’t bother to resheathe Maric’s sword at all, letting the Red Steel drip down with blood the color of rust.

The Arls clamored for a solution, and Elissa opened her mouth, to announce her decision, eyes scared and focused on Alistair. He nodded at her, eyes hopeful with the secret that he and I shared, and she spoke.

“Alistair will rule, and I will help him,” she paused when no one reacted, “as his Queen.”

The room dissolved into chaos, Anora’s voice the loudest. My friend turned to Alistair, “Alistair, you’ll have to see Anora confined. You can‘t trust her.”

He nodded, and spoke clearly, despite the shock reflected in his eyes, “See the Arlessa of Gwaren escorted to her rooms, please,” he requested of the guards. They didn’t obey. My heart thumped loudly in my throat.

“Seize the traitor,” Anora stated, and the Guards attacked. My heart sunk, as one by one Alistair and his newly betrothed killed guards that should have defended them.

Hardly the best engagement party that I’ve ever attended. My friends deserved better.

Panting back to back, with their dog guarding their flanks, Alistair gave the order again, “I said, see the Arlessa to her rooms.“ This time, one of the guards who had remained neutral approached the former Queen, and then a second. “We’ll have you escorted to your lands as soon as possible, milady,” Alistair spoke without grudge, straightening to his full height and turning back to Elissa. Absentmindedly, he wiped a droplet of blood off his betrothed’s cheek. “Let me take care of that for you, my love.” He flushed slightly at the declaration. “Well, it’s not every day a man gains a throne and a fiancée in a single day!” His voice shook, ever so slightly. “Anyone else feel like celebrating?”

The crowd stayed quiet, and my heart sunk even further.

 


	18. A Tornado of Trouble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ‘Beautiful Disaster’
> 
> If he tastes like rainfall,  
> Looks like a summer storm,  
> Fights for you like a forest fire;  
> He’s a tornado of trouble.  
> (And you need to hold on  
> And never let him go.)
> 
> -Nikita Gill

The hushed whispers began in the next moment, buzzing through the bloody hall. I inclined my head at Wynne, and we bent to retrieve the fallen with the now inadequate guards, as the nobles of the Landsmeet hashed out the succession and the question of the probable King’s marriage between them.

“She’s a monster,” an Arlessa hissed under her breath to her companion - I could have told her she was far too close to the King, but such inconsiderate women deserve what they get. “You’ve heard the rumors of the Cousland’s barbaric daughter. Even Howe wouldn’t have her for a daughter in law - and he couldn‘t afford to be picky, with his debts. After Loghain’s skill and Anora‘s honest stewardship… do we really want that thing as our Queen? Ferelden will be the laughingstock of Thedas.” Elissa’s shoulders hunched against the criticism, and I watched her screw her eyes shut.

My heart broke for her. She had evidently heard all of it before. What was worse; she believed it.

Alistair stiffened, sheathed his still-dripping sword, and swung to his lady’s defense. “Oh, she’s a monster, is she?” The woman averted her eyes. “Yes, that’s better. No gentle lady should meet a monster’s eyes. They should tiptoe, and whisper softly around her, lest they draw her attention. Monsters are dangerous, are they not, Arlessa?”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” the woman curtseyed, her face confused, but seemingly relieved that he seemed to agree with her. Foolish woman.

“Then I would suggest you hold your tongue,” Alistair finished, his teeth clenched. “Because if you haven’t noticed, Regents and Arls are dropping like flies before her. A gently raised Arlessa would have no chance at all.” He lifted his chin, and projected clearly, to reach all ears, “Even Andraste was a warrior before - and after - she was a wife. Does anyone else have any further criticism of the woman I’m going to marry? Or are we going to claim that our Lady didn’t have what it takes to be the Bride of the Maker? Because after all, I‘m only supposed to be King of Ferelden. Quite a step down, really. Surely the requirements for my bride shouldn‘t be quite as strenuous?”

Elissa was staring now at her self-declared betrothed with a sort of horrified fascination that could only seal her lips shut firmly. Eamon was nearly shaking with the effort to restrain his desire to silence his contender for the throne. And I could only remain silent, lest I ruin their chances entirely with my foreign accent.

But if Elissa had ever wanted Alistair to declare himself hers publicly, she was having that desire fulfilled in spades, in front of every prominent man and woman in Ferelden.

Beginning on the balcony, Arl Bryland knelt. “Your Majesty. Lady Cousland.” I mentally blessed him, the wonderful man. “South Reach stands with King Alistair and his Lady.” Elissa merely flinched as around him, more courtiers dropped, Bann after Bann, Arl and Arlessas, dropped to their knees. The judgmental Arlessa knelt at last, but Alistair stalked over to her and lifted her chin, eyes narrowed. “I will remember your face, if not your name,” he told her bluntly. “But my bride-to-be holds her grudges close and has a wonderful memory. I suggest you make yourself scarce in Denerim, milady. For your own safety.”

The Arlessa left the room, stumbling blindly in her haste to remove herself. Alistair stepped over to Elissa, met her eyes solemnly, and then smiled, his eyes crinkled up cheerfully. “Now that that‘s settled, someone said there would be food?”

The meetings and plans went on until late that night, but Elissa was never ignored or criticized again. When the Landsmeet finally ended, Alistair immediately tugged her away from her multitude of insincere admirers, and insisted on linking her hand with his, however hard she tried to tug away.

“Propriety, Alistair,” I heard her hiss. He tightened his hand.

“Propriety can hang itself from the gates of Denerim, my love. There will be a lovely spot up there next to Loghain’s corpse.” Eamon cleared his throat pointedly. “Oh, am I not supposed to mention the hanging corpse thing? Sorry, Eamon, I’ll have to trust to my bride’s silver tongue for diplomacy. She can talk a chicken into the farmer’s hatchet. All the same - see that his corpse makes it‘s way up there, will you? Wouldn‘t want the archdemon to miss what my future wife has in store for him.”

“Maker preserve us all,” Wynne muttered into my ear. “We should never have encouraged him to speak his mind.“ I chuckled in agreement, but softly, still afraid to speak.

I had no doubt the Maker would do his part.

Our would-be King pulled her out of the room shortly thereafter, and didn’t even bother with the idea of parting genteelly at separate rooms, only to sneak out later. He fell on her in the closest alcove, and Elissa just laughed and went along. “Cheesy… you‘re such an ass!”

“You are amazing. You even spared me the trouble of asking formally for your hand. You knew I’d just make a mess of it, didn’t you? I know Leliana did - she’s been trying to coach me for days. Can you be any more perfect? Maker, Elissa, did you mean it? Say you mean it. S-say you‘re going to marry me.” The stammer in his voice twisted a thread in my own heart.

He was such an endearing boy. However, to my knowledge that was as close as Elissa ever got to a proper proposal. All my work - wasted.

A breath was caught, and I heard a portrait rattle as he lifted her against the wall. “You _want_ to marry me? All that stuff about me being a monster…”

“Her words, not mine. I would have chosen something less mythological to make my point, if given an opportunity. I would have said something like, “She‘s the daughter of Eleanor Mac Eanraig, and you think she‘s going to be satisfied with frilly dresses and embroidery floss? You‘re as much an idiot as you look. Oh, and fur collars are so last season. Dragon scales - that‘s going to be all the rage this winter.”

Elissa’s laugh rang out down the corridors, “Then yes, I’m going to marry you.“ Alistair moaned a second later, muffled by either her body or her mouth - I couldn‘t tell from my position. “Shouldn’t we take this out of a public hall, Cheesy?”

“No. Let there be no doubt where my loyalties lie.” A long period of near silence, only interrupted by gentle sounds followed, “Maker’s Breath, now that I’ve started kissing you, I’m afraid I cannot stop. Pray, do something, my fair dragon, or I will embarrass you. I have no fear of embarrassing myself. I think I‘ve made that quite clear.”

“We don’t have… ah,” her breath caught again, “to… in public, to make that… oh… clear.”

“Don’t we?” His voice was regretful, and my eyebrows raised in shock. Did he secretly enjoy all the public displays? On second thought, it shouldn’t have surprised me. “Upstairs, then, if you insist. But…” his voice grew rough, “I think I will require you to roar, my Dragon. Let there be no question at all who is with me.”

I don’t believe a single person slept in the palace that night, they were both so loud. The complaints the next day were many, but ceased around Alistair and his lady.

All in all, I think it was rather an effective demonstration. Alistair’s choice was not to be dissuaded in favor of diplomacy. Or in favor of a more traditional woman.

I did warn you, didn’t I, that this was not a typical tale? Sometimes, apparently, the Dragon falls in love with the Prince, and the Prince with the Dragon, and the Princess is banished to Gwaren, to live out the remainder of her days in quiet, caring for her people and lands.

I find myself tempted to end the story here. To let you think that they lived happily ever after, side by side, ruling their kingdom in mutual regard. But I am afraid this story is not over.

Another dragon still has to be brought low, you see. A Blight still has to be ended. They were still Grey Wardens, despite the successful Landsmeet and a bloody end to a civil war. The cost of the Blight was extreme indeed, for everyone involved.

But I would not blame you for not wanting to hear the end. If you don’t wish to hear it, now would be the time to close the book. I will not warn you again.

 


	19. The Parting Glass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Really long chapter, based on a folk song 'The Parting Glass'.
> 
> I quote it in the chapter, so I'm not going to here.

We departed for Redcliffe the next day, to meet the armies we had assembled there, believing that the archdemon would meet us there. It took far less time than the last, since Eamon had provided horses for the future King of Ferelden and his Warden, most thoughtfully. There was no sign of the archdemon, and the darkspawn we defeated there were minimal, given to what we were used to fighting in the Deep Roads. We quickly concluded we had been mistaken, and that we should have stayed in Denerim. My friends made plans for the armies to make a forced march, and retired to make their own arrangements with Riordan.

I was wandering Redcliffe Castle, searching for Elissa unsuccessfully, to ask her opinion about which arrows I should carry to be most effective against the archdemon, when a messenger from the tavern found me. “Please, Mistress Leliana, I was told to give you this by Mistress Bella.“ The note was short and to the point, with the handwriting of the nearly illiterate.

You’ve lost a Warden Queen. Hop to it, before someone takes vantage. Don’t bring His Majesty. She just wants you. Bella

I was unsure why Alistair was busy. There hadn’t been any meetings scheduled that I knew about - other than our two Wardens meeting with Riordan for a final debriefing and a few issues with the Legion of the Dead. It was… out of character for Elissa to go to a tavern alone. I scrambled out of the Keep, and made haste to the tavern in the village, fearing that she was being held against her will.

There, I found Elissa.

She was singing her parent’s song, ‘The Soldier and the Seawolf’.

Holy Maker and his Bride, she could _sing_. She was the sort of alto that sopranos only dream about being, with a range to make tenors weep in despair for their place on the stage.

“Drop him, lady, drop him!” She roared, and I could see her in my storyteller‘s eyes, a raider on the deck of a galleon, hauling ropes and steering the ship by the stars - a fate that she had locked up forever, first with following Duncan to Ostagar, and again with a single sentence at the Landsmeet. “Let the true king’s call for aid resound / Just drop him, Lady, drop him!”

In another life, we could have made a fortune, her and I, traveling around Thedas and singing for our supper, in perfect harmony. I spent a single moment mourning that dream, listening to my love’s hidden talent, before pulling myself back to reality.

My duty was clear. It was already too late to stop her from getting drunk enough to stand on tables and sing the song she claimed was her own personal Blight, but it wasn’t too late to try to steer her gently back to the castle before she threw up in public. She didn’t need them to tell those sorts of stories about her in Redcliffe.

Her audience was appreciative, however, and didn’t want her to go, especially as she rocked up into the chorus, “Turn him loose and let him go / Down to the rocks and waves below / The depths can have that scurvy knave / Just drop him, Lady, drop him!”

A sudden sob stopped her short, and I was at her side in a moment. She blearily looked down at me from her perch on the table. “Leliana? You came?”

“Yes, my lady,” I answered quietly. “Come on, let’s get you home - or back to the Castle, anyway.”

“Can’t,” she choked. “They might not be done. Have to let them… finish.” She stepped down from the table, her foot landing on some unlucky lad’s thigh instead of the plank bench, and clutched at me, in danger of falling off her tipsy feet. “They ha-have to finish, for it to work.” She turned her face to my shoulder and sobbed. “Knew it was too good to be true. He’s too good for me. Would do anything for me. Even this! I’m horrible, Leliana. A monster to ask. Just so that we can be together…”

I was hopelessly confused. “Elissa…”

“He should drop me,” she stressed the last word desperately, and the whisky on her breath turned my stomach. Sweet Andraste, she hadn’t been drinking Bella’s watered ale - the woman had given her a bottle of the hard stuff. “I deserve to be dropped. Right off the cliff at Morrin’s Reach. Not my Da. Just me. He shouldn’t trust me. Not… ever.” She burped, and paled. “Don’t feel good.”

I steered her out to the side of the building, and let her gag helplessly into the bushes while I held her hair. “Milady, where is Alistair? Bella said you told her not to fetch him. That you asked for me, instead.”

She stood abruptly, and overcompensated, reeling backwards, holding her head. “He has to finish.”

I was beginning to get an idea of what she meant, “Do you mean he’s…”

“With Morrigan,” she confirmed bleakly, and I was forced to hold her again, in shock, so that I didn’t fall over myself. Did she mean… but she confirmed it in the next sentence in her usual blunt fashion. “He’s having sex with Morrigan.”

“C’est de la merde,” I muttered in Orlesian, wishing I had had time to have a drink myself. I’ve always found that language better for swearing in - it makes even crass obscenities elegant. (That particular one means ‘That’s shitty’, for those of you interested in such things.)

“No, sex,” she slurred. “Have to make a baby. Even I,” she hiccupped through a series of sobs, “Even I, ignorant as I am, know that means he has to finish. That way everybody lives,” she waved a hand randomly around through the air, strangely regal in the movement. “Nobody dies when I slay the Archdemon. Only way to win and live, since Loghain is deader than dead. Alistair did a very good job of seeing to that.” She smiled fondly, “He did, didn’t he? I couldn’t have blocked that last stroke, not after having my knee kicked in. But Cheesy did it. He‘s so good.” Her face crumpled, “I don’t deserve him. I should just let the Archdemon kill me. He‘d be better off with Anora. She knows how to rule.”

With as bad as she smelled, the Archdemon would be slain by her breath and alcohol fumes alone. “I imagine that they have long since… finished, Elissa.” She had obviously been drinking for hours.

She squinted up at me. “You mean you think he’s done? Already? It’s Morrigan, Leliana. Alistair’s scared stiff of her, and hates her besides. I’m not even sure he’ll be able to get it up.” She sniggered, “Stiff. Heh, that’s a good one. Wish I could tell Oghren. Cheesy wouldn‘t laugh though. Poor Cheesy…”

I swallowed a completely inappropriate laugh. “I imagine he’s not thinking about Morrigan, my friend.”

Her face fell further. I couldn‘t win. “Poor Morrigan. Alistair… he’s really good in bed, Leliana. I hope it isn’t miserable for her. He better be making it nice, like he does for me.” Her drunken smile was fond and sad and more than a little belligerent.

I prayed instantly that Elissa didn’t turn out to be an angry drunk. I wouldn’t be able to handle a battered Prince and still be able to march the next day.

As for Alistair making it nice for Morrigan - I found that extremely unlikely, but knew that Morrigan would likely take care of herself, if it truly mattered. I found it even more unlikely that the witch would care about her own pleasure, in such a situation, especially given her partner - though if she had this trick in mind since she had joined them, I wasn’t surprised at some of the bitterness she had let show. Many things made more sense, in hindsight. “Don’t worry about it, Elissa,” I soothed. “Alistair is probably looking for you right now. Andraste’s Pyre, he must be worried sick. We have to get you back.”

She choked again, and stopped, hiding her face in her hands. “I can’t face him. Not after asking him to do… that. With her. Oh, Maker. What if she‘s better than me? What if I‘m not good enough anymore?”

“Of course you can,” I reassured her, hoping Andraste would forgive me, “Nobles sleep with people that they don’t love for heirs all the time. And I seriously doubt that Morrigan‘s… lovemaking is to Alistair‘s taste.”

“But… but we’re supposed to get married,” she wept openly, clutching at me. “I told the whole Landsmeet it was happening. He won’t want me, now. I can’t have babies. Can’t give him the heir he needs. He said so, that the Joining…”

My heart broke into sharp, jagged pieces at the latest tragedy. “Just as well he’ll already have an heir, then,” I tried to be reasonable through the thickness of my tears stuck in my throat. “And he’ll want you, babies or not. He doesn’t love you for what you can give him, Elissa.”

The words were a stroke of genius on my part, because she stopped crying, mouth hanging open unattractively, and shoved her hair out of her eyes. It smelled like someone had spilled ale on it. They probably had. “He doesn’t?”

I brushed the hair out of her eyes further, extremely gently. “He doesn’t, my friend. He loves you, not your title, or last name, or because of what your womb could carry for him. He was going to ask you, even before you claimed your place at his side.”

“That makes it worse,” she whispered, her fingers digging into my shoulders painfully. “Don’t you see? I sent him to her. For what he could give me. For what she could give him. I’m the worst sort of person. I’m worse than the Archdemon…” she was shrieking now, hysterical with fear and remorse.

I slapped her. I’m not proud of it, but that’s what happened. Her hand went up to her cheek, and my heart clenched.

“Stop that,” I told her harshly. “Alistair isn’t stupid. He knew what it meant, and he did it for you, just as much as you did it for him. Sometimes, it is braver to live and suffer the consequences of your actions than die. Is your sacrifice less than his? Is his less than yours? When you love someone, they hurt you. And you hurt them in turn. It‘s unavoidable. That‘s life. That‘s love.”

“His is more than mine,” she said, but her voice was more even than before. “I didn’t have to sleep with say, Thomas Howe.”

“No, but you had to send him to a friend,” I said, meaning every single word. “And that… that is a torture in itself. Quit thinking about which of you has it worse, and just swear to love him the rest of his days knowing neither of you are perfect. Promise to live for each other, instead of die.”

She was looking at me oddly, “Leliana, you’re talking like you’ve had to - who did you send to a…” the light dawned on her. Finally. “Oh.”

I didn’t bother to deny it. I was trying to be a better person. Lies didn’t fit into that picture. But I couldn’t reply, or pull my tormented eyes away from hers.

“Leliana…”

“I want you to be happy. Both of you,” I whispered. “Please. So few people end up happy. One in a thousand, Elissa. You and Alistair have that chance. Seize it.”

She looked down at my hands, wrapped around my waist, and unwound one, threading her fingers through it. “I never realized. Maker’s Breath, I’m a fool. I had no idea of Alistair‘s feelings, either, until…”

“I know,” I smiled, tears in my eyes. Her hand felt wrong in mine. I knew it would. “I’m not… your type. Makes some a little blind.”

She laughed, still crying a little. “No, you aren’t. I’m sorry, my friend, my dearest friend. I never meant to hurt you.”

I shook my head, “Don’t be. The Maker makes us love who we love. Just as I will always love you, you will always love him. Love him without reservation, forgetting he has ever been with anyone else, if you can. Take the gift Morrigan has given you and live your lives, long and blissful.” I shrugged away the beginning of her protest at the Warden’s short lifespan, “And I doubt Riordan knows all the Warden secrets. Perhaps, somewhere in Weisshaupt, there is a way, if that is what you want.”

I watched hope dawn on her face, “Do you think…”

“You’ll never know unless you try,” I squeezed her hand, and then, deliberately, let it go. “We will go find him, and you’ll stay with him. He needs that.”

She understood my euphemism, and let out a shuddery breath, “What if we can’t…”

“It won’t be the same,” I admitted, remembering a certain night spent with Marjolaine after I knew she had been with a guard captain that day. “But with care, it will get better. Practice is everything,” I teased. “And tonight, you need to practice.” I raised a teasing eyebrow, “And don’t tell me that he can’t manage more than once in a night. I’ve heard the two of you. I know better.”

She snorted a laugh at me. “No, as long as he wants to, it won’t be a problem. But if he doesn‘t…”

We crossed the bridge, and the castle gates framed Alistair, wearing only a shirt and loose pants, standing barefoot outside, looking more the former stablelad than any future King, shifting his feet against the cold cobblestones, talking to the Captain of Eamon’s guard in a panic of his own. “What do you mean, you don’t know where she is? How do you just lose the future Queen?”

“I’m not lost,” Elissa said quietly. He heard her, all the same.

Alistair froze, and that look we both hated – the look of a scared little boy afraid of being punished – turned to her. “Elissa…” he stepped towards her and stopped. He looked at me, and then back at her.

I cleared my throat, clearly seeing the role I must play, to get them back on an even keel, “Somebody’s been drinking…” I performed in a perfect mockery of Alistair’s voice, quoting his words from Redcliffe when we confronted the blacksmith.

Alistair choked, and Elissa fell forwards, laughing and catching herself on her wobbly knees. “It’s me,” she gasped in Alistair’s direction. “I’ve been drinking. I’ve made a fool of myself,” she admitted, sobering up, ever so slightly. “Maker’s Breath, they’ll be telling stories about me in the Redcliffe tavern for ages. The queen who…” she stopped short and eyed Alistair warily, questioning her intended role.

“Of course they will,” I did my best to look smug. “I’ll be telling them, won’t I? I’m very good at telling stories.” I steered her in Alistair’s direction, never indicating that I knew where he had been, and thanking Marjolaine in that moment for all her lessons in airy detachment. I addressed Alistair directly, “Now, Your Majesty, you’re delivered safely into the arms of your true love. As for our Dragon, she will be fine, except for the hangover she’ll have tomorrow morning. Try to have her drink some water? And perhaps keep a basin handy. We had an incident, on our way here. There may be others.”

Alistair hesitated, but then reached out, and pulled her towards him, hugging her tight, her head just under his chin. His eyes closed briefly, and I saw guilt mixed with the kind of love bards sing about cross his face. It was done, then. He wouldn’t look so, otherwise.

She clutched at his chest, but she didn’t cry. Progress. I saw her raise her chin, to support the invisible crown she had placed on her own head, and choose to support its weight, and the weight of her choices.

I backed away, and bowed, “I’ll see you in the morning, when we march. It’s too bad the archdemon couldn’t give you a day to recover before you had to march and establish yourself as the Hero of the Fifth Blight.”

Alistair met my eyes, and I knew he knew how I really felt about her. And that he didn’t care. His attitude humbled me. “Thank you, Leliana. I couldn’t…,” he stopped, “Just… I thank you.”

“You’re welcome, my King,” I curtseyed elegantly. “I believe I’ll retire.”

Elissa started kissing him, even before I left the courtyard, her apologies drifting over my ears. “I’m so sorry, my Cheesy, so sorry… I shouldn’t have asked… I’m sorry…”

“Nonsense,” Alistair’s voice broke, “ _You_ did nothing wrong, except let me think you had left me forever… Maker’s Breath, did you bathe in whisky? You‘d Blight the Golden City with that breath!” Elissa’s shattered drunken laughter made him chuckle despite himself. “Come on, we’re getting a bath. Both of us. So that I can keep you from drowning yourself until your Warden constitution kicks in and sobers you up,” His voice sounded wry. “I daresay I could use another one, at least in Wynne‘s opinion. But this one… we’ll take together. And you need a mint leaf and some soda for your teeth. Come on, Milady Dragon, let me take care of you.” His voice was tender, and I hoped she would treat him as gently.

They both needed tenderness, that night.

Perhaps… perhaps they were going to be all right. One could only hope.

As I wandered up the stairs to my room, my thoughts musing on the difficult decisions that people had to make in their lives, and once again, as I tried to sleep, I resolved not to judge. I would be there for my friends, both of them, however they might need me.

And oddly, I felt light. As if Elissa’s belated recognition of my regard had absolved me of my feelings for her. I had never felt so shriven, even with daily confessions in the Chantry. The secret weighed on me, and I hadn’t realized how much. I had never been ashamed of my love for her – it was a pure thing, I always felt - but I dislike keeping secrets from people I love. There are too few people I love.

Eventually, I heard gentle sounds from across the hall, first of splashes and then of wordless cries, and then her name, called out in sweet surrender.

I started to sing, loudly enough for them to hear. If I could hear them, they could hear me.

 

_“A man may drink and not be drunk_

_A man may fight and not be slain_

_A man may court a pretty girl_

_And perhaps be welcomed back again_

_But since it has so ought to be_

_By a time to rise and a time to fall_

_Come fill to me the parting glass_

_Good night and joy be with you all_

_Good night and joy be with you all.”_

 

The sounds went on, getting louder, and then softer, until with a sudden crescendo, the singing voice I had heard for the first time earlier cried out, and a deeper one echoed, in counterpoint, with a harmony of sated laughter that was all too familiar from our nights in camp.

I had never heard such beautiful music. My own fell far short.

I fell asleep to the music of their lullaby, and I did not see either the next day when we started to march. It was better that way.

 


	20. Fairy Tales Don't

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “That’s the lesson of life,  
> Isn’t it?  
> It gives us one person  
>  who both  
>  shows us that true love exists  
> And that fairy tales don’t.”
> 
> -Leo Christopher

A few days later, after a forced march to Denerim, Elissa sent Morrigan away as well, without bitterness and with just a gentle whisper that only the four of us understood, though my share of the secret was locked away, as tight as any vault, behind my professional mask. She wouldn’t let her risk her child - Alistair‘s child. Morrigan seemed surprised at her consideration. Truly, I don’t believe the witch understood her at all. Not like I did.

My friend was - my friend is a good person, whatever she might believe of herself.

Alistair, of course, came with us, the two of them more like one person after all these months to ever consider leaving him behind. Sten was left to defend the gates with Shale and Oghren as his seconds, and Zevran to wreck whatever havoc he could manage among the darkspawn. A lot, I had no doubt. He’d probably try to seduce the Archdemon, given an opportunity. Better for him to remain behind. She turned to me, and smiled, and I knew I would not be left. Not this time. Wynne made us four and we were off, tracking the dragon to the top of the Fort, passing Riordan where he had fallen.

Somehow I think Alistair and Elissa had always knew the burden would be theirs, in the end.

The battle to the tower was difficult, but barely prepared us for what we found.

The dragon – the archdemon, not my friend – was waiting for us. Elissa directed me to the ballista, knowing my particular skills didn’t have much purchase against the dragons we had fought before, and so we fought, desperately, for our lives, for our countries, for our friends, for the children they might never have, and the one they might never know. The ones I would never have, given who I loved.

Elissa slew the archdemon with a sword through its head, and together, we watched the tide of the darkness ebb, turn and seep back beneath the surface to the Deep Roads, leaving only a ebb of blood in its wake, and a single beam of magic piercing the clouds already rolling back to reveal the sun.

The rest of the story, you know, do you not? The Heroes lived. A King was crowned, and after about six months of political intervention, complicated by Weisshaupt’s questions and the King‘s own advisors, not to mention a few complicated darkspawn issues, they married. The King took a tour of his kingdom, with his Queen by his side. She had a habit of flying away but always returning, like a dragon to its nest, but he wasn’t much better, quite honestly, running off to chase hints about his father all over creation. I wonder at my friend’s patience with him.

But then, she was much the same. I wonder at his patience with her.

She is a brilliant Queen, in almost all respects. She restored the Wardens to their place in their country, and even found Morrigan, only to once again choose to let her go, to build her own life with the child that her and her husband coveted, but not enough to take away from his mother. Perhaps a harder choice than the first, knowing their longing for the one thing they couldn’t seem to have.

Elissa is always wiser than anyone gives her credit for. It’s one way she manages to be so good at her job.

If you come away with nothing else from this story, I want you to understand this: that everything my friends did was for a reason - from the beginning to the end. I hope you see that their love was the sort that constellations are drawn to illustrate. And I want you to understand, that sometimes, there is a person that proves to you that true love is real, and another responsible for showing you that the stories lie.

Sometimes they are the same person. Such was the case for both my friends, and myself.

And as for my own story – I shouldn’t bore you. My dark vision thwarted, I served the Divine, and eventually even ascended her throne after much bloodshed and a few more lessons – the sort we all learn if we are lucky – about the value of mercy.

But I find that now, as I read about my oldest, dearest friends and their new child, that long awaited gift that eluded them for so long, that the Sunburst Throne isn’t a comfortable seat. My feet have been restless, for a Divine. Even now I can hear my Grand Clerics complaining about the way I tend to wander.

Elissa and I used to talk about our desire to see the world. We’ve both done that, though more apart than together, the opposite of what we planned, in our youthful innocence.

But as I write this, I’m traveling back to the country where it all started, to give my godchild her name before Andraste and the Maker. I will turn the key of one of the many locks that they prize in Ferelden and name her Fiona - against the wishes of her parents, who picked a different name that will never see the light of day. Such foolishness blooms between the two rulers of Ferelden, when they make up their minds. I refuse to encourage it.

This time, anyway.

Perhaps the princess’ grandmother will challenge me to a duel. It might be pleasant to dust off the daggers and bow again in a royal court, and force a former Grand Enchanter to claim her grandchild. Fiona wasn’t Andrastian when I knew her. I wonder if that has changed. Many things have changed, but not enough. There is still so much work to do.

If I win, she will be present in the Chantry for the ceremony, standing on the dais before Andraste and in front of all the blighted fools we all still fight to overcome. And I will win, let there be no doubt. I can still be ruthless, when it is necessary, whatever the woman‘s considerable talents.

I cannot wait to see them both again, my Dragon and her King, and their new daughter. No doubt they have new stories to tell me. Perhaps I’ll even share them, if you ask nicely enough.

I pray this story, at least, will stand in the light of the sun and the Maker, and not locked behind thick doors to never see the light of day. I hope He blesses my friends for all their sacrifices. There has been enough darkness in their lives.

They deserve everything that is good.

_A New Beginning_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it. Whew.
> 
> I don't know what I'm going to call the version of 'Awakenings' I'm planning yet. If you like what I write, you might just want to subscribe to me personally, so that you don't miss it. You know how bad I am at tags, after all. It'll probably be a little while before it goes up.
> 
> Thank you all for reading what I write. I'm still amazed that anyone actually likes it. But I'm happy you do.


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